The Artist's Tale
by Francienyc
Summary: Peridan is just a minor character in The Horse and His Boy, but every character has his story. This is Peridan's, from his childhood in the Lone Islands to the inner circles of the Narnian court. PeridanxSusan plus other pairings later.
1. Prologue

_A/N: I suppose this story could be called "slash" inasmuch as it's got homosexual content and has characters that were formerly asexual (Edmund and Peridan, namely) as homosexual. Flame if you like, but I warn you that I sit back and take nothing quietly, so if you flame expect that I will have something to say in reply. However, I am more than happy to explain exactly how this story came about and why Peridan and Edmund should be gay at all--feel free to ask any questions you may have. Anyway, please do give Peridan a chance. I love him, and my best friend rooty-boots loves him...he really is cool people. Incidentally, if you'd like to avoid the slightly graphic stuff and just read the story, I'll put warnings at the beginning of each chapter.  
_

_Incidentally, a couple of dedications and shout outs: This story is dedicated to rooty-boots of course, who is a constant source of inspiration for Peridan and all my Narnia scribblings. In fact, I wrote this story for her, and she was nice enough to let me post it provided I kept her in the dark about any Peridan-bashing. Also, I must acknowledge the idea of pairing Edmund with Peridan was taken from youcantseeus' story "The Blurring of Memories" which is extremely touching as well as being an extremely convincing argument that Edmund is gay. I know it changed my mind on the matter because it was just so well done, and anyone who's read my work knows I'm generally of the Caspian and Lucy camp. Alright--enough with the author's notes. On with the story!_

It was not until after the evening meal that Peridan went upstairs to get ready. Edmund was not there yet, probably chewing his nails and rewriting, or even writing his vows. So Peridan had a few moments to himself to wander around their room, look at their finery spread out on the bed, their sable-lined cloaks and warm velvet tunics. He grinned to himself. He never heard of a couple getting dressed for their wedding together, but in a way that was the beautiful thing about starting an institution. There were no false traditions to follow for formality's sake.

Before undressing, he wandered over to the window and opened it. The cold winter air rushed in, making him gasp sharply. He rubbed his arms and stared up at the cold winter sky, black now as the tunic laid out for Edmund, black as his eyes. The stars were a million white pinpricks, and the moon shown pale and fair above everything.

Slowly Peridan pulled off his clothes, still daydreaming. The moon was full, just as he had asked. Peridan had been shy of making plans. Yes, Edmund had proposed, but he really wasn't the sort to get too excited over something as soppy as a wedding. Peridan rather got the feeling that Edmund would have rather the proposal been everything, that there would be no fanfare. In all honesty, he was a bit shy of being the first man to marry another man himself. His skin came out in goosebumps, and he wasn't entirely sure it was all from the cold. His mind was really elsewhere, back in Edmund's study one evening earlier in the fall. Edmund had been reviewing a new law he had just codified, while Peridan was making notes and correcting a dictation he had taken earlier. His eyes fell on the stack of petitions of marriage which Edmund granted, and the one on top bore the names of two of the ladies at court. He smiled a little and offered a tentative suggestion. "I think we ought to get married at night, under the moon," he said, doing his best to seem conversational and not sentimental in the least, as if the idea had nothing to do with Edmund's proposal under the full moon while they were aboard the Splendour Hyaline.

He was too cold. He pulled on his shirt, his fine silken hose, the silvery velvet tunic over all. He turned his cuffs back and remembered Edmund's smile at his suggestion with a warm little shiver, and that shiver turned into a glow of happiness. He looked around. This would be his room for the rest of his life. He and Edmund would spend all their days calling this place home, living here together. He would tease Edmund about growing old and getting gray hairs. Of course, he was firmly confident that Edmund would be just as beautiful as an old man as he was as a young one. One of those dignified types, and Peridan would paint his portrait again and again over the years. He would tell Edmund he was beautiful, the handsomest man he had ever known, flattering him for decades, but that wouldn't stop him from having a little fun at his lover's expense.

He sighed with satisfaction and brushed his fingertips over Edmund's clothes, smiling fondly. His lover would be his husband. It seemed an impossible stroke of good luck, and perhaps he would wake from this good dream and it would all be over. But then he thought back on all the years and all he and Edmund had shared and endured, and he knew this could be no dream. He laughed a little through his nose, and spoke though only he was in the room. "Anyone who would think that loving Edmund is a dream would be a madman." He smirked. "I should put that in my vows. See how he likes it." Suddenly, he wished Edmund were there so he could kiss him, and he listened for his lover's quick, light step in the hall. As he listened with one part of his brain, he sank into Edmund's favorite easy chair and started to turn over memories with another, sifting through his life as though he were straining for shells in a fistful of sand.


	2. Chapter 1 Childhood

Sifting for shells. That was the only memory Peridan had of his parents. They were on the beach and he was a small boy crouching beside his brown skinned father as they combed through the golden sand for pink and pearly shells. The best ones were iridescent on the inside, shining with a little rainbow of color, and these were the ones Peridan set out to find. He grabbed fistful after tiny fistful of sand. He could hear the cadence of his father's voice, light and warm, and he could still see his mother's image silhouetted against the sun bright sky. He could feel his parents but not see them, and beyond a general impression of radiating cheerful warmth, he knew nothing. He did not even know who he took after in looks. Did his mother have large, sea green eyes, or was it his father? Was his father a slight man, or was that build something Peridan had inherited all on his own? He didn't know. All he could feel was a sandy hand ruffling his hair as he searched intently for shells. Even though he couldn't remember his parents, he could see in his mind's eye every grain of sand that fell through his fingers, every ridge on the shells, the stunning bright whiteness of their outsides and the silky shining insides. And he remembered with little boy resolve that he was finding shells to make a necklace for his mother.

He supposed that scene on the beach was only shortly before they died. Another sickness had swept through the Lone Islands when he was six. The Lone Islands, property of Narnia's crown, did not have a hundred year long winter, but that did not mean they were free. Pestilence, famine, disease: all of these were frequent guests while the White Witch still had her grip on Narnia. So the Islanders endured as best they could, and prayed for the Prophecy to deliver them just as hard as their shivering countrymen in Narnia prayed. Peridan's parents, the faceless Lord and Lady he could not quite remember, fell prey to one of the illnesses. Peridan was told he had fallen ill himself, but he could remember nothing of this. He could not even remember the hour of their death or their funeral, though he was sure he must have been present when they were buried side by side under the rose bower where they had supposedly met. As he grew up, he could feel no grief for them. They were legends, figures in a fairy tale that was somehow associated with roses. He supposed they had left behind some papers, some possessions, some indications of who they were and what they had been like, but by the time he thought of this he was far away from his childhood home.

So his biological parents were nebulous figures to him, vaguer even than the Prophecy which would deliver Narnia. The idea of a parent was the much more solidly real and rather grating presence of his aunt and uncle: his father's brother Kieran and his wife Minna. These were the people who had reared him, who taught him manners and schooled him. Though he called them Aunt and Uncle, he knew they were really the closest thing to parents he ever had.

Uncle Kieran was a slow lumbering country man with no aspirations beyond a pastoral life, while his wife was a sharp tongued country woman whose greatest dream was to be a woman of quality. They were ill matched, but their marriage worked because he was so placid she could rule him any way she pleased. Peridan felt that his Uncle perhaps loved him, though he rarely showed it, but he did not feel any warmth of affection from his Aunt. Rather, she was full of criticisms.

She used part of his inheritance to pay for his schooling, but she was spendthrift and would not engage a private tutor. Instead, she paid for what the Islanders referred to as "lot schooling" wherein several families would engage a single tutor for all their children. At first, Peridan had not been interested in the schooling but was far more interested in the new playmates he had: Devi and Kado and Erwan, raucous boys from neighboring houses. They were children of quality, and though Peridan was growing up in a farmhouse, his inherited title of Lord of Narnia (in exile) entitled him to education with the local gentry.

Of course, Devi and Kado and Erwan did not behave like young noblemen, they behaved like boys, and after a few days of casting longing looks over his shoulder as they set forth a plan for what to do after lessons, Peridan was invited to join them. He had never been around children his own age, and he delighted in the fun of fishing and hiding among the green leaves and purple flowers in the forest and inventing all sorts of games, most of which revolved around sailing to Narnia and saving the country from the White Witch.

Devi was the de facto leader of the group, being lively and brown and full of brilliant plans. It mattered little that he was worst in lessons: Peridan quickly saw that in this world where children ruled, book smarts were not prized. Besides, Aunt wanted him to study, and even as a child of seven he was already willfully playing contrary to her wishes. So he followed Devi and his companions over the slopes and through the woods on Doorn, seeking out adventure and caring not for what his tutor had to say, only what Devi was planning for afterwards.

On a day when Devi had hatched a glorious plot to find birds' nests, it started to rain. The boys drifted home, but Peridan's house was furthest, and Devi brought his playmate home. "We shall have to mind my sister, she's sickly," Devi announced, his mouth twisted a little in frustration at his mollycoddled sister. "But the cakes are always good…Papa likes Calormene sweets, and you haven't tasted sugar until you've had one of their almond cakes!"

Peridan was much consoled by this generous offer, and once Devi had introduced Peridan to his mother, he left his playmate upstairs while he went to ferret out the promised sweets. Peridan stood uncertainly in the hallway, not entirely sure where he should go. In his house, there were certain rooms which Aunt expressly forbade him to enter, and Peridan did not relish her sharp lectures. He couldn't bear the thought of getting one in a house he had just entered as a guest. Nevertheless, he thought it ruder still to lurk about the hallways, so he began trying doors in the hopes of finding a study or a sitting parlor.

He did find one after two locked doors and three spare bedrooms, but it was occupied. A girl of about his own age sat in the window seat, and Peridan knew at once she must be Devi's sister. He had seen plenty of ill people in his life, those who were pale and wan like wax, those who were grey and twisted in pain like curdled milk, those who were yellow tinged with the sickly pollination of illness. He had never seen sickness make someone beautiful, though.

The girl was beautiful in a fragile, china doll way. Her skin was thin as paper and soft as chamois—Peridan didn't even need to touch her to know. He could see the sun filtering through her profile, making her membrane-like nostrils glow red and alive. He could see the delicate tracing of blue veins at her temples. Everyone else fussed around this girl and said that her body was too thin and her head was overlarge, but Peridan noticed none of this. To him she looked like a fairy, and he half wondered if she might flutter away at any moment.

She didn't. Instead, she raised her head from the book she was reading and turned to look at him, at the little-boy disturbance he was making in her quiet, sun-drenched living room. "Hello," she said guardedly.

"Hello," Peridan answered automatically. "I'm sorry. I was just looking for someplace to sit. Devi left me in the hall when he went to look for almond cakes. I didn't know where to go."

"Who are you?" her question was not confrontational, but curious.

"I'm Peridan," he said with a blush. Aunt had drilled into him "let everyone know who you are. Say your name and be proud of it." As much as he tried to oppose her, certain things sunk into his head, and he felt a prick of guilt for not introducing himself right away.

She tilted her head and looked at him appraisingly. "I like that name. I'm Juliette."

"Hi," Peridan answered, giving a little wave. He was red to the ears as he looked down and traced a pattern in the carpet with his toe.

"Peridan, do you like to read?" Juliette asked suddenly.

He looked up at her and shrugged. This was not a question he had considered before.

She looked at him more closely. "_Can_ you read?"

"Of course I can!" he said with some indignance. "I go to school with Devi!"

"That doesn't mean you can read. School seems to have done little good for Devi," she said simply, so easily that Peridan had to laugh. No one dared make fun of Devi like that. He was the ringleader and could do no wrong, but here was his sister poking fun at him easily.

She reached beside her and lifted up a plate. "Almond cakes," she said. "They really are good. And Devi will be hours finding them since they're up here."

Peridan laughed and clambered onto the window sill with her. His acceptance of one of the sweet iced cakes sealed their friendship.

After that, Peridan's hero worship of Devi faded, replaced by Juliette's calm friendship. Juliette did not demand or command, she simply shared. She shared her books with him, and Peridan's eyes opened to a new world around him where everything was not a mystery one must shrug and accept. His Uncle's long unsatisfactory answer of "That's the way things are" to all of Peridan's questions was no longer right or acceptable. Instead he posed these questions to Juliette, and together they would pore over books in the effort to find a solution. Once when they were desperate for an answer, Peridan sought out his tutor for advice. He got a more than satisfactory answer, for the tutor, a reedy young man called Gilbred gave him a book and a fascinating lesson on astronomy.

Peridan went straight to Juliette and shared this new knowledge, and the two of them delighted henceforth in finding a question that would stump Peridan's all knowing tutor, turning the pages of the books with sticky fingers that had crumbs of almond cake clinging to them. Peridan's curiosity and willingness to seek out the answers soon won him top marks among his peers.

While Juliette and Gilbred were extremely pleased and Peridan secretly proud to think of himself as smart, not everyone was pleased. Devi did not like someone having the upper hand over him, and his friendship with Peridan frosted over as quickly as it had thawed. Meanwhile, Uncle said in his slow drawl "I don't see what you need them books for, my boy. The land is what'll feed you" while Aunt pursed her lips and pronounced "You're getting too smart for your own good." They were at constant contraries, and once Peridan expressed enthusiasm for the studies she pressed him to undertake, she thought it was too much.

Peridan did not see how this was possible. There was far too much to know in the world. As far as he was concerned, and Juliette concurred, one could never be smart _enough_. He stopped his interest in outdoor pursuits and started to spend all day leafing through books.

Juliette was a happy child, but her sickness made her wistful. She could not go outdoors. She was very clear that she did not want to go in order to play and cause mischief like Devi; "I want to explore," she said. "To _see_, and know."

"I can explore for you," Peridan offered. "And then I can come back and tell you about it, like the sailors did in this book when they went all the way north to the Seven Isles."

"But I should like to see too, not just hear and read. How could that be?" Juliette asked reasonably.

Peridan frowned thoughtfully, licking the crumbs off his finger as he turned a page. His eyes alighted on an illustrated map, beautifully done, and his face started to shine. "I know! I could draw it for you."

"I don't know, Peridan," Juliette said, swinging her leg as it hung from the window seat with metronomic doubt. "Can you draw really?"

He hadn't ever tried to draw; he was forced to admit this defect in the plan. But as he stared down at the map he saw two pictures: one the whole illustration all in color and the scene it depicted, the other, the lines that composed this picture, the brush strokes and the colors. He knew instinctively that the color used to paint the water was not pure blue but was blue tinged with green. He looked up at Juliette and saw that to draw her eyes he ought to start with a circle and then stretch the sides a little, as opposed to beginning with an oval. He saw the strokes he would need to draw her long, cobwebby eyelashes and envisioned the exact blue he needed to traced the lacelike veins which pulsed life at her temples. He didn't know how to make these strokes or where to find this blue, but that seemed the easy part. He met Juliette's doubtful gaze and said with confidence "Yes. I can draw."

He grabbed a pencil and paper and set to studying Juliette's features. He spent all afternoon at her portrait, but eventually he had something worthy of showing her. He lifted up his success, beaming among the dozens of crumpled and rejected wads of paper which represented his failures.

She was suitably impressed. "You _can_ draw," she said with awe, regarding her portrait. "See that you become better, so that you can draw everything you see for me. That way I shall go with you."

So Peridan took to carrying around pencil and paper with him wherever he should go. In the parlors where he had lessons, he would race through his work in order to draw Devi in a rare moment of concentration, or Kado looking surly while the others laughed at him for his appalling sums. One day he was caught out in this activity, and Gilbred said in his quiet voice "You are coming with me after lessons today."

Peridan had no choice but to obey, and he prepared himself for a stern lecture or possibly a beating, such as the one Kado got the week before. He followed Gilbred's long strides with his head bowed, trotting to keep up.

Gilbred led him on a long walk to the outskirts of Narrowhaven. When Peridan saw the paved roads underneath his feet, he looked up in query. "Why are we here?" he asked, and he wondered if what he had done was really so bad as to earn him a public flogging.

This question earned him a thin smile. "Don't worry. This will be a good thing for you, I think." Gilbred stopped in front of a brown thatched cottage and pushed open the door. "Alon!" he called. "I've found you a pupil at last."

Peridan looked around curiously. The ground floor of the cottage was only one room, and it was musty, full of the smell of old books and strewn about with papers, except for one corner by the window. There a great easel was set up, and pots of paint were everywhere. Peridan's eyes lit up at this treasure trove.

The man named Alon came out from behind the easel, his eyebrows arched suspiciously. He had very significant eyebrows, this man, ones which jumped and danced and made his otherwise plain face very astute and alive. In his mind, Peridan saw that these dramatic black brows were not made with one stroke, but rather three, and he itched for a pencil to try it. He saw a sketchbook and a pot full of pencils by the easel, and he licked his lips with longing.

Gilbred handed Alon the drawing, and Alon bent over it to inspect it carefully. His eyebrows twitched so much that Peridan could stand it no longer, and he dove covertly for the sketchbook and a pencil. He _had_ to draw this for Juliette, and Gilbred was holding the implements he usually used.

The two men had a lengthy discussion about something, but Peridan heard none of it. He was too busy experimenting with the pencils. Some were soft and made thick, dramatic lines, others were fine pointed, making sharp, razor precise lines. He tried each of them in turn, but his quest to draw the eyebrows ended when he saw the brushes and the paints.

There were brushes everywhere, made of all shapes and all materials. Wide and fan shaped and square ended and circular. At once Peridan saw that to be an artist one needed not only the vision but the tools. He ran the soft bristles of a fine tipped brush over the pad of his index finger and he knew it would be the perfect one to trace the blue in Juliette's face. And the paints! They were in cakes and pans and tubes, and it seemed there were more colors in that room than there were in the whole of nature.

Peridan was so in awe he barely heard Alon accept him as a student, but from that moment forward his life had changed entirely. He wouldn't ever be an ordinary scapegrace of a boy like Devi again, and his waking hours were all to be spent poring over books and pictures.


	3. Chapter 2 Narnia Mad

The summer before Peridan turned 11, a new wind blew through the Lone Islands, a fresh wind that carried some vague scent of promise. The illness that had slowly been invading the islands suddenly evaporated like the rain which had soaked everything for a week straight dried up in the warmth of the sun. The air was lighter, and it seemed as though some great shroud was lifted. The sky grew brighter, the animals fairly gamboled in the fields. The young men walked with a spring in their step and the young ladies' clear high laughter rang out like bells.

Peridan was sure he was the only one to notice this. When he mentioned it to Aunt and Uncle, they dismissed it as stuff and nonsense. But really, the flowers at the edge of the forest had never been quite so red and real before. "Maybe I am changing" Peridan said to Juliette when he showed his painting of them to Juliette. "But they seem so different."

Juliette cracked the window in a fit of daring and sniffed the fresh air. "No…I think you're right. The world smells different. I can't say why, but it's as though spring has come at last."

"Even though we are in high summer," Peridan murmured, staring out the window at the sun drenched fields.

Juliette and Peridan were not the only people to notice. On his way to lessons with Alon, Peridan heard the people commenting in the streets. The middle aged shoemaker thumped his stout chest and said "I declare, I feel as young as a lad again!" The old crone begging for change on the corner flexed and unflexed her once gnarled fingers. "The rheumatiz lifts," she said with wonder, pointing a bone straight finger at Peridan. He was alarmed by her in the moment, but remained thoughtful.

Then the news came from Narnia. The Hundred Year Winter was over. The White Witch was defeated by the monarchs and Aslan. The Prophecy was fulfilled, and the four thrones at Cair Paravel now had occupants. Their names were murmured throughout the Islands with a reverence that bordered on veneration. "Peter the High King. Queen Susan. King Edmund. Queen Lucy." That explained the change, the new air, the fresh wind. Even Aunt and Uncle acknowledged it now.

"I should take you out in the air," Peridan said to Juliette. "This change might help you." It was a full year later and the lightness was still in the air.

She shook her head and patted his hand. In her room there was always a fire now, and her skin was almost entirely see-through. There were great hollows under her eyes, but this served to highlight how large and grey they were, and the fire reflected in them made her more luminous. In his childish innocence, Peridan thought this meant Juliette was getting better, and this was the idea he labored under, persistent in his hope.

"Anyway," he continued, "You must come out to Narrowhaven to see the Kings and Queens. They are coming on a state visit next week. Juliette, you have to come. This is something you must live to see. I couldn't draw it for you and do it justice."

She bit her lip and she smiled, a rare thing for her these days. "Alright. Before I fly away like the fairy you think I am, I'll come with you to Narrowhaven."

Peridan got special permission from his Aunt and Uncle to stay at Alon's the night before the monarchs' arrival, and he snuck Juliette out of her house to come with him. Alon barely noticed the presence of an extra child in his house, he was so busy fretting about his paintings. "They'll need a court artist," he murmured, wringing his hands and cracking his knuckles, "And if I'm lucky it will be me! If I can just find the right paintings, show them my brilliance…" Peridan and Juliette shared a secret joke at Alon's expense over their tea merely by lifting and lowering their eyebrows as he did.

The next morning Peridan was up before dawn, and he shook Juliette awake. "Come on," he murmured. "We want to get there early, so we can see. I don't want to be at the back! He bundled her in blankets and helped her onto his horse, the one he had helped break. Aunt had said it was too early for a wayward boy like Peridan to get a horse, but for once Uncle had disagreed with her. "He knows the animals, Minna. He's a born horseman, like all the men in our family, and he's earned this one. It's one thing to give a milk fed boy a horse when he's too young to know about it. It's quite another to keep a boy who's done the work of a man from something that is rightfully his." Thus Aunt had acquiesced, probably because she was startled more than because she saw the reason in Uncle's words.

Peridan would have galloped, but he was mindful of Juliette and her illness, so he went at a gentle trot. The town was quiet, and the air was blue with the predawn light. Here and there, yellow light shone through the windows. The fresh wind was still blowing, and it whipped through Peridan's hair and ruffled Juliette's blankets. They did not speak, they listened only to the roar of the wind in their ears and the clatter of the horse's hooves and, as they got close to the harbor, the slapping of waves against the sea wall. Peridan tethered his horse away from where the crowd would gather, and he and Juliette stood alone on the pier, watching out to sea. The sun rose behind their backs, and it hit the water, shattering it into a thousand bright diamonds. The children's eyes followed the trail of dazzling water and found that the prow of a great galleon was cutting through the glassy sea. Peridan's eyes traveled upwards, and he saw the gilded prow, like a swan, and the wide white sails emblazoned with a red lion. Everything on that ship seemed to be glowing. He gasped, and after watching for a long, awed moment, he drew out his sketchbook and took the picture down as best he could while Juilette watched over his shoulder. He tried to memorize every detail, capture the ship in all its great glory. He had no idea in that moment of first vision that he would know every inch of that ship as well as he knew his own bedroom, that indeed he would have his own cabin aboard the great galleon.

By the time he had sketched enough to paint later as his next project in Alon's studio (though could he paint the _light_? The living gold?) a sizeable crowd had gathered around them and the air was now white with the dazzling summer morning light. Then the governor appeared at one end of the pier in bilious robes of official purple and his crier stood at the end of the pier, crying out while the sailors jumped down to moor the ship, "The Splendour Hyaline has arrived and it brings us the lords of our deliverance. All hail Peter the High King, Emperor of these Lone Islands! All hail his mighty consorts—Queen Susan, King Edmund, and Queen Lucy!"

There was a hushed thrill in the whole crowd, like when the earth stands perfectly still before the thunderclap and deluge of a summer storm. What would these Kings and these Queens be like? So many rumors abounded. They were giants. They had superhuman strength. Surely they would be hardened warriors and gracious ladies. Surely they would be great, because they had achieved the feat that none other could. They had delivered Narnia from the White Witch. They had fulfilled the prophecy.

Now the gangway was lowered, and the trumpeter, a strange looking creature who had—of all things!—the legs of a goat and two horns sticking out from his curling hair, played the royal fanfare, the first time it was sounded in the Lone Islands. The clear rich notes pierced the air and made everyone forget about the strange trumpeter. The banners advanced, fluttering in the wind, and then there was a flash of the sun reflecting on crowns and bright armor and the High King and his royal sister Queen Susan were at the top of the gangway.

A great cheer started to build, but it never quite reached its full swell. As the King and Queen descended the gangway, the sun stopped glinting off his armor so brightly, and everyone could better see the faces of these monarchs. They could see that the High King was hardly even a youth, that he had not yet reached the bloom of manhood. The Queen, his fair consort, had the young, though beautiful, face of a girl. And though he too appeared in armor, King Edmund was shown to be younger still, no more than Peridan's age.

No one quite knew what to make of this. The "lords of their deliverance" were…children? Where were the heroes? The giants? But Peridan was close enough to see the true nobility in the High King's open features. Though his cheek was smooth, his bearing was majestic and young as he was, he wore his crown as though it were his great pride and his very humbling honor. By his side, the Queen Susan was a glowing vision of dark beauty, yet there was no haughtiness in her face. Her mouth was spread in a nervous smile and Peridan could see the kindness in her eyes. And then there was the King Edmund, who could not be older than Peridan himself but who examined the crowd sharply while the Queen Lucy radiated light and warmth and joy.

Then from beside him Peridan heard Juliette cry out "Hail to King Peter!" and he joined in at the top of his voice "Hail to Queen Susan!" By the time they reached Edmund, all the children in the crowd were shouting, and Lucy's name was nearly drowned out by the deafening cacophony of cheers.

The monarchs' visit was brief, but it left a profound impression on Peridan. For a long time Aunt had been forcing him into heraldry lessons: swordplay and jousting and etiquette. Though she may not have been titled herself, Aunt Minna was going to become a woman of quality through her nephew or die in the attempt. Because these things pleased his aunt, Peridan shied away from all of them, giving the bare minimum in these lessons because they took him away from his books and his paintings. Only the joust he enjoyed, but only because it meant he got to ride his charger more.

After seeing the King Edmund, a boy of his own age, dressed in armor, Peridan had a mania for becoming a hero. For the first time he remembered the thrilling games and quests he had invented with Devi and Kado and Erwan. He thought that these not be idle games, but real dreams. If King Edmund and the High King were knights, could he not become one himself? He threw himself into his training with enthusiasm.

Juliette supported him in this, even though it carried him away from her. When he came to visit she would be reading books of heraldry, and she would look up to give him some new piece of information on what it might mean to be a Narnian knight. "You simply must go to Narnia," she declared, her eyes shining brighter still.

He seized her hand. "Yes, and you must come with me. I have lands there, they tell me, and we could live together for awhile. And then when we grow up we could get married."

She coughed, but he ignored this even when she shook her head. "But you could do great things even by yourself" she insisted.

Peridan let the argument go, but he resolved to win her over. She would come to Narnia with him. She _had_ to.

She distracted him from this train of thought by pulling out a small, linen wrapped packet from beside her. "I read today that when knights ride to battle they often carry tokens of their ladies," she said with a blush. He opened it and found a lock of her straggling blond hair secured with a pink ribbon. "I was hoping that when you are a knight you would carry my token."

Peridan squeezed the little lock of hair in his fist. "Of course I will. And you will be there to see me off." He didn't know why he was suddenly less sure as he said those words.

Juliette died two short weeks later. Peridan rode up her drive to spend a rainy afternoon with her and he discovered from Devi that the rain had washed her spirit away. He knew he was supposed to dismount and go inside, to pay courtesies to her grieving family, but all he could do was sit on his horse and let the tears and the rain fall down his cheeks. He drew his latest painting for Juliette out of his pocket and looked at it, half blind with tears. The rain pattered down on the paper, and the colors started to run and blur. Peridan dropped the picture in the drive and galloped away at full speed. The road was slippery and slick with rain, but he cared little. He should have.

The next thing he knew he awoke in his bed, feeling tired and sore all over. He lifted a hand to his head and found it bandaged. His aunt was sitting hunched by the fire, and when she heard his movements she got up and thrust a cup of feverfew tea into his hand. "The doctor said you were to drink this when you woke up. Otherwise you'll have a nasty headache."

Peridan took a sip and winced at the taste. His Aunt was unsympathetic. "That's what you get for riding like a madman in the rain. You're lucky that's the worst of it for you. They had to shoot your horse."

"W-what?" Peridan stammered.

"Can't do much else for a horse with a broken leg," Uncle commented from the corner. "It's a shame too."

He felt cold and sick all over. His horse was dead. Juliette was dead. Juliette…He threw the covers off and put his tea aside. "I have to go. What time is it?"

"Where do you think you're going?" Aunt Minna asked sharply.

"Juliette," Peridan could only just manage to squeak the word out. "Her funeral…"

Uncle shook his head. "I'm sorry, my boy, but you've been out for two days. They buried her yesterday."

Peridan slumped against the pillows. His life in the Lone Islands was evaporating. In the year since the Kings and Queens had come, Alon had packed up his studio and left Peridan to fend for himself while he sought a position as court painter. Now Juliette and his beloved horse were gone. He saw what this meant. He couldn't give up now. He promised Juliette he would go to Narnia and become a knight, and he would keep that promise, drawing his whole journey for her. She would be able to see. He saw that someone had preserved the little lock of hair by his bedside, and he stroked this with his fingertips.

In the weeks that followed, his Aunt complained that he was Narnia-mad. Whenever he could, he met with people who had been to Narnia, to traveling Narnians themselves. When he could not make his way to the dinner houses in Narrowhaven, he buried himself in a stockpile of books, some which had been published in Narnia ages ago and had ironic titles like "Is Man a Myth?" and others which detailed the history of Narnia before the Golden Age. If he wasn't permitted to ride into town and visit the quiet white library which boasted the best collection of books anywhere under the Narnian crown, he would beg his uncle, "Please, bring me back a book."

When he wasn't reading or talking, he was begging. Every day at dinner there was at least a twenty minute conversation in which Peridan made pleas to go to Narnia. At first these conversations amounted to little more than childish pleading on his part and stubborn refusal on theirs, but Peridan eventually started to marshal his wits. Then the conversations got longer as he presented his arguments: "I inherited land in Narnia, what if it is given away without me claiming my right? The future is in Narnia, think of the opportunities that await us! The land is not as worn; the farming will be richer there." These were words which Aunt Minna and Uncle Kieran, being less educated and less intelligent than their nephew, had a harder time warding off.

Even so, it might have been a good few years before Peridan wore them down enough to obtain their consent had it not been for one of Aunt's chatty old friends. As it was, Peridan was fourteen before even this stroke of good luck happened. As Minna complained of Peridan's Narnia obsession while he sat drawing within earshot, the friend commented "But who knows, Minna? The Kings and Queens are young, and they are looking to fill their court with young people like themselves. Your nephew is likewise young and well born to boot. Take him to Narnia and he may gain the favor of the Kings and Queens, move with their inner circles, become part of them."

Edmund scoffed at the idea of second sight, but after hearing this pronouncement of his future, Peridan could never be too quick to dismiss it. After all, he was a Lord of Narnia and a Knight. The High King called on him as both a soldier and a diplomat. He was good friends with Queen Lucy and he had an eternal bond of friendship with Queen Susan. And he was beloved by King Edmund.


	4. Chapter 3 Voyage to a Home Unseen

_A/N: So I've been sitting on this chapter for awhile because I wasn't sure what to do. It's got some really graphic content (read: sexually violent) content at the end and I'm a bit afraid that I'll get kicked off or something. But a very wise friend of mine whose opinion I trust said that I shouldn't censor myself, so I didn't. And here you have it. If the gay thing and/ or sexual violence is really not your bag, then I'm begging you not to read this. Well, read it if you like, and flame if you like as well, but don't say I didn't warn you. I do, however, promise that it is not gratuitous. This all has bearing on the story. For those of you who do care, there will be plenty more with the Pevensies coming up very shortly. Stay tuned!_

They booked passage on a ship heading for Narnia in the winter after Peridan turned fifteen. He bid farewell to his friends without regret; these were the meaningless acquaintances of childhood. Only Juliette had known anything real about him; these other children knew only what they could see, or what he chose to divulge. Only his stallion had known his rhythms as they galloped together. But they were both gone, one without reason and one through his folly, and the lesson that death and loss is both unavoidable and preventable with care was a bitter lesson for Peridan. The Islands lost their magic for him, and his thoughts were constantly turned to his future in Narnia. Only there might he make another friend. Only there might he find another horse.

Besides the fact that little anchored him to the home he had known all his life, life was growing uncomfortable for Peridan. He felt sure inside he was too young to be thinking about girls, but no one else seemed to be thinking that way. Devi would walk with him in Narrowhaven and point out all the young girls. With his artistic eye, Peridan could easily agree or disagree whether they were pretty or not, but he did not have that same longing look in his eyes that Devi had. And when Devi spoke of a girl he had kissed, Peridan had gone red to the ears. He couldn't imagine kissing a girl. It all seemed too bizarre. Yes, he and Juliette had promised to marry when they got old enough, but that was a promise of childhood. That marriage was for friendship; it had nothing to do with the way Devi looked at and talked about girls.

Even his Aunt's friends would comment to her "Your nephew grows so handsome. With those eyes he'll break a dozen hearts and you'll have your pick of dowries." Girls looked at him, but he never noticed unless Devi nudged him. This life was all growing very uncomfortable, and with the old loves gone and the new pressures mounting, Peridan couldn't wait to be off. He wouldn't have cared at that point if he was going to Calormen.

But he wasn't. He was going home, to Narnia. He felt in his bones that was where he belonged. He was not one of Island stock. Only four generations before his family had been prosperous landowners in Narnia. Perhaps the estate house still stood, and if it did, it would be _his_. Even more than inheritance, he knew he belonged in a land where the Kings and Queens were young adventurers, where the world was fresh and new and his to explore.

He boarded the ship in a flurry of excitement. Aunt was peevish about the month-long sea voyage, but Peridan could not wait. He had been on boats all his life, but the prospect of traveling by ship and hearing the calls of the sailors and the great sails flapping above him was a new experience he relished.

After they set sail and the first flurry of excitement was over, most of the passengers hunkered down in the cabins below. Peridan was everywhere on deck. He was fascinated with the sea, and the briny air which assaulted his nostrils was colored with the mysteries of unseen lands. He told himself "Even if I fail to become a Knight of Narnia, I shall be a sailor and find adventure all over the world." Aunt complained of seasickness day and night, but Peridan felt in those first days that he could spend his life at sea. He even loved the salty stickiness that clung to his hands when he ran his hand through his hair.

He drew everything. He drew the sails full in the breeze, the Narnians staring with inquiring eyes out the portholes below, the ten thousand shades of blue in the water. He even tried to draw the things he couldn't see, searching for a way, probing with his pencil to draw the rushing sound of waves, the salty taste on his lips, the warmth of the sun on his arms. He was drawing all of it for Juliette, remembering to always share his adventures with her. Somehow he felt she could see.

There was, however, one sketch which was not for Juliette but for Peridan alone. It started idly enough—he was sketching the main sail unfurled and added the sailor working with the rigging. But he kept returning to this sketch, perfecting it as his eyes strayed always to the sailor. He couldn't understand it. Of course this man was extraordinary looking with his brown Calormene skin and his light northern eyes. He was a good study of the human physique with his rippling muscles and his hard biceps. Any naked artist's eye could see that. So Peridan was not entirely sure why he pulled that page out of his sketchbook and kept it separate from the others, or why he only worked on that particular sketch when he thought no one was looking. If studying this man was right, he shouldn't have to hide and if it was wrong, he shouldn't want to work on the sketch. He didn't understand but he hid himself by the boats nearly every day, leaning on his sketchbook and glancing up through the double screen of his long lashes and the strands of hair which fell in his eyes to examine exactly how the drop of sweat traced the hard planes of his muscular arms.

He was doing more staring than drawing that day, trying to figure out why he felt so warm when the sun was not on him. Then a shadow hovered over him and he looked up. Uncle was standing there staring down at him, and for the first time Peridan saw something other than gentle complacence in his face. His face with twisted not only with anger, but with shame.

Peridan made to cover the drawing, but it was too late. Uncle had seen all, and he ripped the sketchpad and the drawing from him. He looked at Peridan for a long moment and in his eyes was all the chill of the wet spray and the sea breeze. Never breaking eye contact, Uncle Kieran took the sketchbook and flung it overboard. Peridan stood up and turned at once. Tears sprung to his eyes as the wind tore the sketchbook apart. All the drawings he had done for Juliette scattered in the wind, drifting down like flakes of snow to rest on the surface of the wind chopped water. He gave an anguished cry, a sound which scraped his vocal chords but was lost against the fierce wind. And then, before Peridan's very eyes, they were swallowed up.

He turned to his uncle with tears of outrage burning in his eyes. He could never do those pictures again, never. All those hours of work, the shafts of light he would never be able to capture again…all that loving work for Juliette and it was all gone. He opened his mouth to give voice to the shaking, angry grief that was stabbing at him, but he never got even one word out. Uncle backhanded him across the mouth, and then without saying anything further he slapped Peridan's face. He stood in shock. Certainly Aunt and Uncle weren't the kind to cuddle and caress him, but he had never been hit. The surprise deadened his nerves, and that was a good thing, because Uncle then drew off his belt.

He beat him long enough that the shock wore off and Peridan began to feel the pain. His body was young and green and well cared for. He had not known pain before, not really. Some deep instinct of pride told him not to cry out, and though he pressed his lips together, they trembled and a cry burst from his lips. But he did not cry.

After Uncle hit him long enough to "beat some sense into him" he took Peridan by the shoulders and looked into his red rimmed and trembling eyes. "I didn't want to have to do that," he said in his slow, calm voice. "Had to, though. Had to learn you." He didn't blink, and the hand that still held his belt did not shake. Peridan took note of this.

"You know your Aunt and I got no kids of our own. You're the nearest thing I got to a son. I don't mind you being a little odd, neither. If you want to read and draw, well you can go ahead. But Peridan, you listen to me now. You're a man. Men don't look at other men. It ain't right, and I ain't gonna let it happen. Don't let me catch you at it again." With that he strode away, hitching up his pants as he went below deck.

That night Peridan inspected his bruises. He ran his fingers over the raised bump all along the side where the belt buckle had scratched his skin. When he turned around to look in the mirror, he saw that his back was red and raw. He tried to understand his uncle's message, but he really couldn't make sense of the word. He could only think of the lost pictures and of Juliette as his fingers probed his wounded skin.

The next day Peridan was sitting at the prow of the ship, clutching his knees to his chest. His back and face ached dully, but really the pain was for the lost pictures. He figured they were probably disintegrated by now, and he could never ever get those moments back. He gripped his pencil in his hand, an empty talisman. He realized he was also further inhibited because he could not draw any more, having no paper. His fingers itched and burned in this horrible limbo.

In the midst of this reverie a shadow fell across him. He furrowed his brow before he looked up, prepared now to face his uncle, to rebel, to yell at him for his crimes against art.

Up close he was taller and his muscles were harder than Peridan had imagined. His skin was like warm brown sugar compared with the creamy whiteness of his linen shirt. This shirt was open at the throat, and Peridan could count his pulse from where he sat watching. And his eyes. His light eyes were like the silvered grey of a cloudy sky, too fierce and hot to look at.

"I think this is yours," he said, holding out a paper to Peridan. Even when Peridan's fingers grasped the paper he held on for a moment, so that Peridan had to tug it away. His fingers trembled as he unfolded it, and he noticed the paper had a lingering human warmth to it, as though this sailor had tucked it inside his shirt for safekeeping. He didn't know which of the many sketches had returned to him, but any was a boon at this point.

Except this one. He found himself looking with horror at the picture that had been his undoing, and he felt a wave of nausea and shame sweep over him. "I…" he began, but he trailed off. What was there to say, really?

"Come with me," the sailor growled, but there was something in his tone that told Peridan he was not displeased at all.

The stinging welt on his back reminded him he had better say no, but the paper in his hand spoke of his injustice. He wanted to go because it would displease his uncle, desecrator of his art. He got up and followed the sailor.

He had made a place on deck behind a tall coil of rope. The barrels were arranged in such a way that once behind them both Peridan and the sailor were completely out of view. Peridan looked at him quizzically. An instinct rather than conscious knowledge told him what was about to happen, but before he had a moment to even think about what it might mean the sailor had grabbed him with all the strength in his muscular arms and kissed him hard, pushing his tongue inside Peridan's mouth.

Peridan hung limp in his arms, his mind reeling. Surely this wasn't right. But the sailor, this muscular man with the green eyes was hard with desire as he rubbed against Peridan, and to his horror Peridan understood why he had gotten the beating. Part of him wanted this. He wasn't being forced. He wasn't even just letting it happen. He wanted to see if this man's lips really did taste like the honeyed cakes he used to share with Juliette.

He knew he should have pulled away, and the sailor held him so roughly it hurt. His skin was still tender, but somehow the dull ache of those rough caresses was like a balm to Peridan. Here at last was some measure of comfort. Now he knew his body could give him pleasure.

Just as he was settling into this rough kiss, at the exact moment when he sighed a little and raised his hand to the sailor's hair, something new happened. His brown hand was fumbling with his breeches, exposing him. Peridan felt it against his leg. He couldn't help jumping back in surprise.

The sailor held him fast. "Listen to me," he growled. "Men only do this at sea. Only at sea, d'you hear? And if you tell anyone, you shall get a second and a third beating—one from your father and one from me." Peridan shook a little with fear, and the sailor saw this. He stroked his hair and his cheek roughly. "Don't be afraid," he said, but his growl of desire didn't sound much different from his growl of anger. It was only lower. "This won't hurt. I have seen you. You are a beautiful boy. Your eyes, and your lips…" he kissed Peridan's neck with a flick of his tongue. "If you are quiet we can have a very nice time together. Touch me and see."

Peridan was very unsure about this. He hardly knew this man, he was in fact a little scared of him and his roughness, his growling voice. And this act seemed so intimate. But this sailor was so big, and now Peridan knew first hand, so strong. Could he dare refuse? When he thought about it, did he really want to? The idea of touching this beautiful brown stranger gave him a strange tug in his stomach. He let his trembling fingers brush against the taut brown skin.

The sailor groaned, a guttural sound that surprised Peridan and almost made him draw back. But he couldn't. The sailor drew him close and he was kissing Peridan's neck with hot, wet kisses that made Peridan gasp with surprise and pleasure. He found he was tilting his head back, but he couldn't remember when this was a conscious thought.

At last, Peridan started as if from a dream. He knew he couldn't. He couldn't find voice for this, not even a nervous murmur. He tried to turn away from the embrace, to get away from this place into the open air of the sea, but the sailor held him close with his sweaty arms. "You aren't going anywhere," he growled.

Still he couldn't talk. He tried, but his voice was only a bubble of air. He tried to pry at the sailor's arm, but it was unmoveable. If only he could scream. But if he screamed and someone came to help, would he not get more of the same, or perhaps worse from Uncle?

The sailor's whole body was rigid and trembling with desire. "Please don't run away. I want you so much. You don't understand. I see you watching me, and I think about you. You are so beautiful, with your hand and your eyes, that I think about you all the time. Please."

There was nothing else he could do.

The next day the sailor came out of nowhere. He almost threw Peridan into the alcove, kissing him hungrily running his hands over Peridan's body. Then all at once his hands were at the lacing of Peridan's breeches and he yanked them down. Before Peridan could think of a word of protest or gather his wits together for so much as a noise, he was being turned around roughly and pressed up against the coil of rope. The color seemed to drain from everything and he couldn't think anymore, but he gripped the rope. He could feel the rough scratching of the rope under his hands. He realized incongruently that his pencil was still in his hands.

Peridan only had two sketches from that first voyage from the Lone Islands. He had the sketch he made of the sailor, and on the other side he drew a dark, heavy sketch of a length of barbed rope. The pencil pressed so hard to the paper that it created a raised impression on the other side, and if he held it in the right light, the sketch shined with the gleam of the pencil. There were a lot of dark, heavy, angry strokes. But he hasn't said no, so what could he complain of?


	5. Chapter 4 Inheritance

**A/N: Nothing scary in this chapter, people. And though it seems like his encounters with the Pevensies are a cheat in this chapter, I promise there's more coming. Hence the foreshadowing. Also, may I just take this moment to plug rooty-boots' "The Drill." Yes, she is my writing partner and the Peridan that Edmund mentions in that story is the same guy here, but really, it's just a fabulous piece of work. All from Edmund's point of view.**

"Peridan! Get up! Out of bed! How are you still sleeping? We haven't time for this!"

Aunt's persistent voice was even more shrill in the morning. Peridan groaned and pulled the pillow over his head, sinking into a soft cotton darkness.

"Up!!" she insisted, stripping the sheets off him. Peridan curled up into a defensive ball, but Aunt started poking him. "How can you want to stay abed when this is the most important day for all of us? This day depends on _you_, Peridan, and laziness will get you nothing. Get _up_!"

She gave him a shove to heave him out of bed, and Peridan tumbled out the other side in a tangle of sheets and pillows. He stared up at his aunt and opened his mouth in the righteous indignation of youth, but her look warned him not to argue.

After Aunt out-stared him she ordered him curtly "Get dressed," and swept from the room.

Peridan stared after her sullenly for a moment, clutching the sheets in his fist. Then he realized there was nothing for it. He could feign tiredness all he wanted, he could hide behind his nerves, but nothing would change the fact that he had his audience with the monarchs today. They would decide whether or not he could claim the lands he had inherited and how much he could take. Aunt and Uncle were not inheritors, they could not petition. So Aunt was right: it was all down to him. Peridan felt a little sick as he dressed.

If he could have avoided it at all, he would have. But they had been living in the rooms of an inn in Lionshaim for a month. Aunt was impatient to be settled, Uncle was restless without a farm to work. Even Peridan himself longed for views from his own window, horses in his own stable. He loved travel, but this transient life was tiring him. He couldn't unpack his books or his paints. He had no studio.

But to get one, he had to face the monarchs. They would look right at him, and address him. Would they know about him from looking at him? Would they know his secret truth of the sailor and the rough coil of rope? Would they know that even while he protested, part of him liked those rough caresses, liked being told he was a beautiful boy, liked being desired? Sometimes he thought that everyone could tell just by looking at him, and he imagined he saw that mix of disgust and loathing and alarm in their eyes. Ever since he arrived in Narnia he started to hide.

Now he had to face those shining monarchs with this secret on him. He was not natural, and he worried that he would always be this way. And what if they knew, and they looked at him in the same way Uncle did? Since he was eleven he dreamed of winning the respect of the Kings and Queens and Narnia, and now he feared he could lose it all on one stroke, a part of himself that he feared he had little control over or power to change.

He turned these thoughts over and over in his head all while dressing, all through the long morning until he climbed into the carriage with Aunt and Uncle to ride to the castle. As they trundled through town on the road to Cair Paravel, Peridan looked out the window of the carriage and envied the young men on horseback. "One day," he promised, "I will ride to the castle on a horse of my own, and I will be proud of myself." He didn't feel proud of himself at all in that moment, but he hoped that one day he might change.

As they approached the castle, Aunt rapped smartly on his knees with her fan. "Peridan! Sit up straight, for heaven's sake! You can't meet the Kings and Queens looking slouchy and wistful. Be _proud_ of who you are—a Narnian Lord of an ancient house!"

"A Narnian Lord with unnatural disposition," Peridan thought to himself, but he shifted obediently. As he did, Aunt's eyes widened in horror at the sight of the sketchbook tucked under his arm.

"_Peridan_!" she cried in a voice so loud that Uncle winced in his seat next to her. "What in Aslan's name made you bring that?! Do you want to look like a fool of a traveling artist? This idle doodling was one thing in the Lone Islands, but if you are to be a Lord here in Narnia you must give it up now, or else be a laughingstock of no importance."

Peridan's heart seized at the thought of not being able to draw. The pictures drew themselves in his mind so quickly and so perfectly and in such quantity that his inspiration was already half torture. He had to protest; he couldn't let her think she was right here. "Aunt, really, I—"

"Listen to your Aunt, Peridan," Uncle drawled slowly, but there was a firm note to his voice. He looked significantly at his nephew, and Peridan knew that he was hoping never to find another picture like that one of the sailor again. He subsided in his protests and returned to gazing out the window at all the people who bore no heavy secrets. Except that he saw one girl, a thin fragment of an almost woman with long waves of luscious, flame-red hair. She had a sharp face and wary eyes, and Peridan thought that even though her looks were striking, she carried something darker with her. He almost reached for his sketchbook, but he stopped himself in time. He flexed his fingers and sighed.

Aunt tapped his knee with her fan again, but not as a reprimand. It was as though she was trying to be kind. "Honestly. You mustn't sulk like a boy over it. What is it to give up some hobby, really? You can't have hoped to become an artist when you are set to be a soldier, perhaps a knight. You don't play with the toys of your boyhood anymore."

Peridan started to sink lower at this, but by the end of her speech he had had stopped listening entirely. Her words hardly seemed important now, for Cair Paravel was looming ahead of them.

In the month since their landing in Narnia, neither Peridan nor his aunt or uncle had been to Cair Paravel. To Peridan it was still a castle of legend, the place of the four thrones. He imagined it sometimes as a white palace, cold and remote on a hill by the sea, glowing a little with the surety of prophecy.

He was not wrong in these details, but they were not nearly a complete picture of the castle. As soon as they reached the crest of the hill and could see Cair on the gentle hill opposite him, Peridan could see that this place was very much _alive_. It was built of white stone, but there were riots of flowers growing in the gardens at its base, nestling the castle like a lily queen among a flocking of maidservants of roses and forget-me-nots and dahlias. The turrets were all painted, some gilded, with the bright colors of the Narnian sea and sky. The windows reflected this landscape; some glowed from within, and here and there Peridan could see a panel of stained glass. The castle was a graceful reflection of Narnia itself, a place where simultaneously one could feel awed and at home.

His amazement continued as he went through the gates and the halls to the throne room where he would make his petition. The rich tapestries depicted Narnia's creating, its old history in vivid silk thread. There was always the click of hooves or the pad of feet among the halls and passageways. Soon he even found himself looking past the surface beauty to the grace and beauty of the castle underneath. Ever arch was smooth, every corner ending in a clean and graceful line. Before entering the throne room, there was a mosaic of a lion's head on the floor and Peridan was simultaneously warned and bolstered by the thought of Aslan watching over him.

Really it was over very quickly. Peridan's case was clear cut—he had all the necessary papers, he promised not to evict any Narnians already living on the land. Before he thought to quake in his boots before the High King, he was sitting next to his Aunt, who wore a very satisfied expression.

So at fourteen, Peridan became head of an estate—at least nominally. Really it was Aunt and Uncle who ran their household exactly as they had in the Lone Islands, and Peridan reverted to being their child. He was glad that the monarchs had no adults. If there were adults, they would probably force things like a regency. Then where would the High King be?

Thus Peridan lived in peace but relative solitude as the year wore on. He had his fifteenth birthday and got not a studio or even an easel as he hoped, but he did get a new horse, a strong but wiry chestnut said to have some talking horse somewhere in his line. Peridan liked this thought; for him it meant that the intelligence in the animal's eyes was not his own imagining.

While he wanted something that would show his aunt and uncle approved of his art in some way, he could not complain of the gift of a charger. Once he had the horse he could begin his training again, and he was determined to fulfill the dream Juliette had for him, that he was growing to have for himself. In his brief visit to the castle he had seen the Kings' generals; they were young and hardy, and in just a few years time Peridan might be fit enough to fight among them. He had never seen war, so he didn't really know or understand the bloodshed or the horror of battle. All he saw was the warriors crowned in glory, and he wanted his share.

Besides, with the monthly allowance that Narnian law demanded his aunt and uncle provide him with from the profits of his estate, Peridan was as good as free. He could ride his horse to Lionshaim and pay for art lessons or supplies. He could ride by Cair Paravel and watch the High King surveying the troops and dream of the day he would be among the cavalry. And he could sketch all of Narnia for Juliette.

Soon Peridan's life had a comfortable, if solitary rhythm to it. He would wake up and learn from his uncle a bit about keeping an estate, then spend the morning in lessons. After lunch, he would go riding, and three times a week he met the centaur master who had found him sketching one day. In the wise way of centaurs, he taught Peridan not only the techniques of art, but the principles behind it. Peridan quickly learned to distinguish the Calormene style from the Archenlandish style. He could tell at a glance the myths behind certain paintings, and why Archenlandish artists portrayed Aslan differently from Narnian artists. For a centaur, art meant a greater understanding of all the world, and Peridan quickly adopted this philosophy. His natural curiosity and his natural inspiration were finally married in his mind.

He didn't see or meet many other people behind his aunt and uncle and his new tutor, but he was alright with that. He didn't really want to meet other people. Between his uncle's wary looks and his aunt's constant criticizing of his art and his bookishness, Peridan was scared what other people might think of him. He had only ever really felt safe with Juliette, and now she was long gone and far away. And then, she had never known his darkest secret, because he hadn't known it himself at that time.

Thus when the invitation arrived, he was absolutely terrified. He came back from his weekly lesson with a book of Narnian legends under his arm and an assignment from Renfrew to think how a Narnian school of art might treat such legends. He was prepared to spend the afternoon absorbed in this study and making some idle sketches when he found Aunt glowing over the post. He frowned in confusion.

"Don't frown so. It's impolite," Aunt said but without her usual curtness. "Besides, look—you have received an invitation to come to court for Christmas."

Peridan nearly dropped his book. "W-what?"

"Don't stutter. See for yourself." She handed him the letter, and Peridan noticed that her small eyes were glowing with this little pleasure.

Peridan looked at the letter itself before reading the contents. It was written on fine, cream colored paper which he knew instinctively would take oils but not watercolors well. It had been sealed with a blue silk ribbon and the seal was that of a horn and an 'S,' superimposed. In later years, Peridan would recognize this seal, this ribbon, and this paper in an instant, even if it was buried amid a stack of correspondence. Such was the frequency of his correspondence with Queen Susan in later years, but for the moment he was ignorant. He turned the letter over and saw the brightly inked calligraphy of a formal address from one of the monarchs. Edmund would come to send him little flippant notes under his official title, but here Queen Susan's address was very formal and very cordial.

_Susan, Queen of Narnia, Duchess of the Dancing Lawn, Countess of the Shuddering Wood, and Lady of Cair Paravel to Peridan, Lord of Narnia, Greeting._

_My dear Lord Peridan,_

_Given that you have only recently been reinstalled in rightful ownership over your family's lands, you are doubtless unaware of the custom we have here of inviting all the nobles in Narnia to court for a fortnight at Christmas. Therefore, we extend to you our royal invitation to join us at court beginning the 20th of December. Please do come. My brothers and sister and I are all sorry we didn't get to speak with you more when you came and we would all very much like to get to know you. _

_Kindest regards,_

_Queen Susan_

Peridan bit his lip as he read the letter. He looked up at Aunt's face and saw that she didn't even dream refusal was an option. There was nothing for him to say but nod when she declared they would go into Lionshaim and order his court clothes the very next day.

He lived in a constant state of nerves and nausea for the next five weeks. He had penned his reply to Queen Susan praying that his handwriting was neat and presentable, and he sent his most respectable looking farmboy dressed as a herald with the acceptance. He endured Aunt's constant dithering and fluttering, her fussing over trunks and luggage. He did, however, put his foot down about the wardrobe. She wanted everything done in the style of the Islands, but a quick glance at the young men in Lionshaim told Peridan that he would look horribly out of place if he showed up at court in the half Calormene style of the Lone Islands. For once, Aunt had praised his skills of observation, but when she reported this fact at the table to Uncle that night, he only looked askance at Peridan. Was that supposed to be part and parcel with his "abnormality"? Peridan wondered.

The day before his departure, Peridan went to his lesson with Renfrew as though he were walking to his last meal. Centaurs are not particularly empathetic creatures, but Renfrew noticed his distraction.

"If you are unprepared, my young Lord, perhaps we ought to save this lesson for another day," he said when his fourth question went unanswered.

Peridan shook his head. "I'm sorry, Renfrew. I'm just distracted. I'm supposed to be going to court tomorrow and I'll have to come face to face with the monarchs…I'm a little nervous."

Renfrew glazed over Peridan's nerves. Instead his eyes lit up. "But this is the perfect chance! We have been discussing a Narnian school of art, and now you can study the best possible subjects—the four monarchs who are living legends. Never mind your nerves. Hide in a corner if you must, but do not lose this opportunity. This could be the beginning of a new Narnian school of art."

So that was what Peridan did. He made his bows and danced the obligatory dances, tripping over his feet rather ungracefully when he took his obligatory turns with both Queens. The rest of the time he hid in the corners and alcoves of Cair Paravel, sketching studiously, trying to capture the monarchs, trying to remember the techniques Renfrew had taught him.

There was at court another man from the Islands. He was older even than the High King, but he seemed very close to them all. Peridan knew the Darnans from the Lone Islands. He was familiar with the false court they held there, acting as pretenders to the Narnian throne—at least until their claims were washed out by the truth. Jareph was the absent member, the one who mostly remained in Narnia, and Peridan quickly learned that this man who claimed so much intimacy with the Kings and Queens was the same Jareph. He played and frolicked with Queen Lucy. Peridan often saw him pluck King Edmund's elbow and share with him some comment or joke that would make the young King's black eyes spark. More noticeable still was the way he hung about Queen Susan, gazing at her, flirting with her. Peridan could scarcely remember an instance during that stay at court when he saw her and Jareph Darnan wasn't close by. Only the High King retained some kind of distance from the handsome young lord. Yet he was charming and warm: he would often flash Peridan smiles from across the room, and once they had a conversation about the Lone Islands, all the places they knew in Narrowhaven and the choppy waters on the Eastern side of the islands, the very edge of the known world.

Peridan didn't really think it fair to fault someone for being charming or…well, to be perfectly honest, distractingly handsome. He thought perhaps he was jealous—Darnan had the easy relationship with the monarchs that Peridan could only dream of having. He wanted to laugh with Queen Lucy, look into Queen Susan's kind eyes, share some secret joke with Edmund and whisper in his ear. But he was too shy to even say hello. Instead he went home with a full portfolio and no hope of social advancement, thus managing to disappoint both his aunt and his uncle.

It wasn't until after Peridan had returned home that he saw exactly what made him so uneasy about Darnan. He was looking over all his sketches, selecting a few to bring to Renfrew for criticism, when he came across one he had done of Lord Darnan and Queen Susan. He barely remembered doing it, but it was a poignant sketch. The Queen was leaning towards him, her eyes soft and kind and alight with happiness and love. All the folds of her fabric, the very bend of her elbow was gentle, and Peridan had rendered her in very soft strokes with the pencil that had the softest lead. She was utterly lovely, and seeing the kindness and warmth he chanced to capture in her face made him very sorry indeed he had never spoken with her. She looked like the type who wouldn't push him away but would rather welcome him.

Next to her soft loveliness, Darnan was rendered all in hard lines, using a sharp pencil which scratched the paper a bit. There was a part of his face that was in shadow, but Peridan had drawn the whites of his eyes, glowing even on the shaded page. He leaned over Queen Susan as though he meant to possess her. She looked as though she would give herself up willingly, but that made Peridan shudder. He knew what it was like to give himself to such demands. As he stared at the picture, he realized that Darnan's handsome features were almost feline, and they way he hovered over Queen Susan suggested nothing but a tiger toying with its prey. Peridan clenched his fists. If his drawing could be trusted, the Queen was willingly exposing her back to claws that would maul her, and if he could have thought of some way, any way to stop him, he would have done it. That was the moment when Peridan stopped worrying about his own personal glory. He wanted to be a knight to save a helpless, beautiful woman. He wanted to protect someone else, and he had thought that he would never come across one who needed his protection when he was so timid, but it looked as though Queen Susan was unaware of her danger.


	6. Chapter 5 Coming of Age

**A/N: Still nothing scary, folks. Mostly just a chapter to move the plot forward. The next one finally has the Pevensies, which is why I chose to post both at the same time. Surprisingly I have a ton of chapters written, I'm just...uncertain about posting them. Review away...I want to know if this story has any merit.  
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The fact that Peridan failed to earn any recognition from his visit to court earned him months of nagging. By the time his birthday rolled around in October, he was so sick of her lamenting what a disappointment he was that the moment Aunt opened her mouth he would practically flee the house.

Little else happened that year except Peridan grew. He grew in height so that he was no longer a scrawny boy but a young man of some stature. As he continued his training, his muscles hardened. He could never quite manage the well defined physique that the High King had, but he had a wiry strength of his own.

He supposed another mark of his growth was the fact that girls began to notice him. When he rode to town on his tall charger in the well-appointed clothes he continued to wear after his court visit, he could feel their eyes on him. He considered with a measure of relief that if he liked to know they were looking it must mean that he was alright—normal. He didn't dwell on the fact that he never looked back at the girls.

On the morning of his sixteenth birthday, Peridan rode out with his pastels in his pocket to do some sketching. He made good progress in the morning, but spent half the afternoon staring at his reflection in the lake, wondering if he was anything like a man, and wondering if he would be a good one, or brave, or important. Then he wondered if all this contemplation wasn't a little bit silly and he took off his clothes and dived in for a swim.

After a refreshing swim, which was freezing in the brisk October air but somehow also bracing, Peridan took his paints and went to his art lesson. Renfrew greeted him with half a smile. "You have the look of one who has been much in thought," he commented, wiping the end of a brush carefully.

Peridan blushed. "I didn't think it was that obvious," he muttered.

Renfrew rewarded this modest demurring with a sharp look. "Such things are always obvious to one with a discerning eye. You ought to know." He turned away, leading Peridan into the tent which doubled as his studio. "Come, let us return to your study of me from last week."

Peridan listened attentively as Renfrew critiqued the proportions and the lines. He furrowed his brow in concentration as Renfrew showed him how better to hold his pencil, how to make movements with his arm rather than his wrist. Renfrew was a difficult teacher to please, but Peridan wouldn't have traded his criticisms for all the world. When he was a child, Alon's enthusiastic praise bolstered him; now that he was getting older, he only wanted to be better. He didn't know if he would ever be a _good_ artist, but he was going to try with everything he had.

Finally, Renfrew looked up from the drawing and into Peridan's studious face. Peridan had long since learned that prickly feeling which meant the centaur's sharp eyes were trained on him, and he looked up.

"Understand this, young Lord Peridan. All these drawings that you do, they are _art_. You have the gift."

"Oh…I…" Peridan stammered, modest against praise.

Renfrew held up his hand. "Do not protest in the false ways of humans. This is not empty praise—that is not the way of centaurs. I tell you fact. Yes, your technique needs refining, but that is teachable. The fact remains that you can capture the spirit of a person in a drawing. I would know this was me if you had reduced me to the barest lines. So it is with your portraits of the monarchs." He laid a hand on Peridan's shoulder and repeated "You have been blessed with the gift. Do not waste it."

Peridan swallowed. There didn't seem to be anything to say.

"You will stay here tonight and dine with me. There is much I want to show you in the stars."

He nodded slowly.

Dinner was a simple meal of oatcakes, nuts, and fruit. Renfrew brewed some tea afterwards, and Peridan built a fire. He noticed that his teacher nodded his approval of the soldier skills he was developing. He smiled a little and sat back on his haunches, holding his cup of tea with two hands and not really knowing what to say.

Renfrew began the conversation. "You remember how you became my pupil."

"Yes," Peridan said bashfully. "I was drawing and you saw, and you said you would give me lessons."

"And why do you think I made you such an offer? I ask for no payment."

Peridan shrugged and drew a line in the dirt with the toe of his boot. "I suppose you must have seen something in my work."

"Indeed I did. I have told you I saw your gift. But I also saw something else in you. Put out the fire." Renfrew's voice managed to be commanding and mysterious all at once. Peridan wondered at this sort of self-possession. He rose and doused the fire in a bucket, shivering for a moment in the new dark coldness that surrounded him.

Renfrew rose from where he had been reclining, and Peridan heard his hooves pawing the ground. He looked up at the clear sky, a deep velvet blue. The stars were sharp on that moonless night.

"I have been watching you, for there is something that hangs about you. You are talented, yes, but there is something more than that. I feel, my Lord Peridan, that you are destined for something, and that feeling has grown stronger since the approach of your sixteenth birthday. I have examined the stars, searching for your path, and I would show you what I see."

Peridan gave an inaudible gasp. His hands felt clammy. He had never been an important person before. He was the observer, the chronicler. The idea that Renfrew was searching for his future, that he could be that important…

Renfrew spoke in his clear, solemn voice, interrupting Peridan's thoughts. "You see in the sky the four stars which represent our kings and queens. Long have they shone in the sky, and their conjunction foretold the end of the Witch's reign. There will come a day when the stars will move apart and the monarchs will leave us, but we will not speak of that." He raised his arm and traced an arc through the sky. "Your path brings you close to these stars, close to these monarchs. By predicting the movements of planets and stars—"

"Please, Renfrew. What movements? Where are my stars? How can you tell?" Peridan interrupted, unable to keep the bubble of questions inside his throat.

Renfrew responded with a cold look. "These are not the secrets you are meant to know, they are the ancient ways of my people. Listen. This is not a time for questions." Peridan fell silent then, and Renfrew continued. "You will be close to the kings and queens, and in your stars I can see a time of much strife and many hard decisions. You may win glory, and there will come a time when you will have a chance to save their lives, but you must be brave. Do not flinch from this path." He turned his eyes from the sky and looked hard at Peridan. "Understand this: the stars show the choices Aslan lays out for us, they do not show what you will do. Only you must decide that. You have the power to alter what fate's affect will be. The first step down this path is at Christmas. You will get another invitation to the castle. You must not come home."

Peridan felt a sharp bubble of fear rise in his throat. How could he manage to invite himself to stay? How could he be so bold? He knew Aunt would like nothing more, but he didn't know how it will manage it.

"You will have the choice. It will come to you," Renfrew said. "Learn to recognize fate guised as opportunity, and do not fear to be who you are. Never forget your destiny, and never forget your gift. Else you will have wasted your life."

Peridan rode home slowly, a heavy pressure on his heart. He didn't see how any of this was possible. He knew he was an artist, but he didn't see how he could be one forever. In time, he would have an estate to run. He longed to be a Knight of Narnia, and here Renfrew was saying that he would even have a chance to save the monarchs' lives, but when he thought about that it seemed like a fairy tale. "After all," he reasoned. "Who am I? I'm only Peridan. That's no one important."

He rode up the drive with his mind still whirling. It took him a full few minutes to realize the lights were blazing in all the windows, and his aunt and uncle were silhouetted in the doorframe, standing together in grim shadow. He slowed his horse to an uncertain walk, wondering what this ominous picture meant for him.

He did not have to wait long to find out. A groom came to stable his horse, and he was ushered inside for a lecture in the dining room that had been set up for a small feast in his honor. As he saw the melted remains of ices, the place of honor prepared for him, he felt a little pang of guilt. Though the scene looked more like a party for an 8 year old boy and not a 16 year old who was thinking about manhood and his future, Peridan recognized that this was a gesture of love on the part of his—well, his parents. He turned to them at once, penitent. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know…"

"That is neither here nor there," Aunt said crisply. Whatever tender disappointment she may have felt had hardened into her usual brittle anger. "We didn't know where you were! This was wholly irresponsible—we expect better of a boy your age, Peridan!" Behind her Uncle nodded silently.

"I was with Renfrew!" Peridan protested. "You knew I had a lesson today. It just went a little longer than expected."

"Renfrew! As if he has anything of value to teach you! Every day at dinner it's Renfrew said this and—"

"You don't know what he has to teach me!" Peridan interrupted, heedless of his manners now. "You're only jealous because you don't know yourself and you're too small minded to learn."

He knew instantly he had gone too far. He pressed his lips together, wishing he could take the words back even before he saw Aunt go white. All the color seemed to drain from her face into her lips, which suddenly turned a voluptuous berry red.

"That's too much, son," Uncle said gravely, laying his hand on Aunt's shoulder. "Now, I was prepared to back you up on this, but I'm started to see your Aunt is right."

Peridan felt a jolt of panic. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck. "Right about what?"

Aunt Minna opened her mouth, but Uncle held up his hand. "You're too much with this art. You spend all your money at the store in town and you spend all your time either with that teacher or in your studio. But you need to learn how to run your estate. This is your land, and you have to respect it if you expect to live off it. I thought maybe you could do with cutting back, but your Aunt's plan is wiser, I think."

Now Aunt picked up the thread. "No more of this idle doodling, Peridan. You are going to make something of yourself. And to make sure of that, we are locking up your supplies. Until you learn what is important, your allowance is going to benefit the estate and yourself."

"But you can't!" He couldn't think straight enough to make a more coherent argument than this, though legally he was right.

His aunt cocked her head, her eyes sharp and malicious. "What are you going to do? Petition the kings and queens? As if you had the courage! No, Peridan. Don't think you can debate your way out of this one. We are going to make sure you grow up to be the man your parents hoped."

He sank into a chair. Aunt and Uncle left him alone in the room. He had never thought of being forbidden from drawing. The feel of a pencil in his hand was as natural and unconscious as the feeling of his chest rising and falling as he breathed. How would he be the man he hoped if he couldn't even do what he loved? What kind of life was he going to lead? What would he do if he couldn't express himself in drawings? He became quite sure that Renfrew was right. He _was_ an artist, if being an artist meant that drawing and painting were extensions of himself, an essential part of who he was. What now that this was taken away?


	7. Chapter 6 Destiny Part One

Over the next few months, Peridan found a streak of resourcefulness and rebellion he didn't know he had. This streak became his lifeline, because it meant he dared to snatch a scrap of paper and a stub of pencil when he could. He also summoned a cool, confident persona which allowed him to demand that the butler let him in the locked studio on an afternoon when his aunt and uncle were out so he could pocket some of his pastels and stubs of pencils and a sketch pad. He looked longingly at his oil paints and his collection of brushes, but he knew that would be too much of a risk to smuggle. So he brushed his fingers regretfully across the canvas that he had waiting for him and stole from the room with his few treasures. But in the hall his fugitive movements ended and he drew himself up and commanded "I am Lord of this house. My aunt and uncle need not know of this afternoon. Is that clear?" He was imitating the High King's manner as he had seen it at court, and it seemed to have great effect. The butler bowed respectfully.

Thus Peridan was able to survive the rest of the fall. His lessons with Renfrew had ceased, but the centaur seemed to accept this as a matter of course and sent Peridan letters of guidance and advice. Peridan sent him sketches from time to time, and Renfrew commented on these. He was alright for the moment, but he knew he couldn't go on like this, not indefinitely, and he started to think about his fate. Renfrew had said nothing about art. He only talked of the monarchs. Now both seemed impossibly out of his reach.

He saw Uncle in the fields one November morning, supervising the men as they built winter housing for the livestock. Uncle stood with his foot on the lower rung of the fence, smiling and chatting with the workers as he chewed a blade of wheat which rose and fell rhythmically as his jaw worked the stalk. He had a long and involved conversation with the head workman about exactly which animals should be housed and how many shelters should be used. Peridan found that he understood little, even with as many books as he had read. He stood uncertainly some paces away, trying to imagine himself in his uncle's place, leading the men in taking care of the land, the land that was his by rights. He tried to look at the spread of the fields with a farmer's eye. What would that frost highlighting each blade of grass mean to him, a farmer? It would mean a fan brush with the white oil paint diluted so that he could get the translucent sparkle it leant. He shook his head and tried again, tried to examine the line of beech trees marking the end of the planting field, but he could only think that to really paint their sepia silhouettes he would also need to capture the pearly gray sky behind them.

When Kado was nine he knew the lay of his land. He would come to his lessons his boots trailing thick mud all over the carpets and floors. Gilbred had looked at him with distaste, and so had Peridan, but Kado had just shrugged. He had been proud of who he was and what he knew. Peridan looked at his own soft hands, calloused only from holding reins and brushes and he sighed. He could join the conversation, learn from his uncle who knew so much about the land. He pulled his sleeves over his hands and went inside, blinking back tears that he told himself came from the stinging chill of the wind.

He was going to go upstairs and fling himself on the bed and wail that he could never be who his uncle wanted when he ran across the footman on the bottom of the stairs, bearing a letter on a tray. Peridan saw the royal seal at once and remembered Queen Susan's fine, delicate hand. His tears dried in his eyes and he reached for the letter, the second invitation. Renfrew's words rang in his head. "Learn to recognize fate guised as opportunity." Right then. This wasn't an opportunity to escape, this was a chance to meet his fate and see if Renfrew might be right.

After three nights at Cair Paravel and weeks of flurried preparations at home, Peridan took stock. He was dressing for dinner, another in the series of parties and amusements set up for the nobles when the monarchs opened court at Christmas. At other times of the year only they and their especial guests and the castle staff lived here, and Peridan found himself wondering what the halls of the castle must be like when not crowded with jovial shouts and tittering whispers. Did everyone dress for dinner then? Did the High King smile so distantly?

Not that he was ungrateful, or even bored. The amusements had been so well planned by Queen Susan that he found himself pulled out of his room more often than last year. There were big dinners and small sleighing parties and even that afternoon Queen Lucy had a skating party on the lake. The Queens were warm and lovely: Queen Lucy was blithe and cheerful, and Queen Susan had the kindest face he had ever seen. He wondered if this had something to do with the fact that Lord Darnan was nowhere around this year, but he thought she was better off for it even with the sadness.

He felt his shyness and his skittishness melting smoothly away before the Queens, for who could feel unwelcome around such kindness? However, behind them stood the Kings. The High King was one thing. Peridan wanted so much to impress him, to hear King Peter say he was worthy to be a soldier, a knight of Narnia. When the High King walked into a room, everyone knew it. Everyone stopped, everyone turned, everyone bowed. He nodded in turn, and his face was kind, but he never smiled. He saved his smiles for his sisters and his brother, and when he thought they were almost alone, Peridan caught the High King laughing with them. He was curious to know what could make the High King, usually so serious, laugh. To win a smile or a nod of recognition from the High King—Peridan felt that he would have done something very great indeed. As yet, however, he was still in the background, no more than another face of nobility in King Peter's eye.

Peridan sighed and sized himself up in the mirror. Perhaps one day… He dropped his eyes and caught sight of the small portfolio he had obtained since coming to the castle. He learned that the servants had been given orders to supply each guest with whatever pleased them for private entertainment, and Peridan immediately asked for a sketchpad and pencils. He put these to immediate use, continuing his study of the Kings and Queens and he went over and flipped through what he had done so far. There weren't very many as he had only been at court a couple of days, but he was pleased with the start he made. There was one of Queen Susan and Queen Lucy sitting next to each other that he particularly liked. Queen Lucy was obviously telling a story, and Peridan was satisfied with the way he caught the arrested movement of her hands and the expression in her eyes as she spoke with her usual enthusiasm. Meanwhile. Queen Susan's head was inclined toward her sister, listening attentively as a small smile played on her lips. Her eyes were downcast, and though Peridan had stayed up half the night, he didn't think he had quite gotten the mixture in her expression that showed her happiness in talking with her sister and the unnamable sadness which she always carried with her. In working on that sketch and looking at that sketch he wanted to find a way to bring her some happiness, as he had been able to do for Juliette.

Getting close enough to try was another matter. Though he didn't think Queen Susan would necessarily mind if he spoke with her, if he got so much as within ten feet of her, he felt King Edmund's eyes boring into him. Actually, he felt King Edmund's eyes on him at other times as well, and if he turned soon enough he caught the young King frowning at him with his sharp dark eyes and his brow furrowed with disapproval. Peridan had no idea what he had done to earn these looks from the young King, but they unsettled him deeply. When he looked at Susan he thought that even if Renfrew's prophecy didn't exactly come true, he might be her friend. But then he felt King Edmund's eyes on him and he realized this was just an idle daydream, a pretension to greatness. King Edmund reminded him that he was an outcast who didn't fit without so much as saying a word.

He shook these thoughts of his uncertain welcome off and buttoned his cuffs. Then he picked up the book he had just finished and headed to the library to return it and choose another. He was still thinking about King Edmund and the sharp look in his eyes and the impossibility of ever knowing Queen Susan's kindness that he was well into the library before he looked up from the cover of the book. And when he looked up he found himself alone in the room with King Edmund, who was sitting with a book on his lap and watching him.

Peridan felt his nerves tingle as though doused a cold shower, and he stood there a moment, frozen. He couldn't retreat; it was too late for that. He stared at the King for a few moments before his brain finally kicked into gear and reminded him to bow. "Your Majesty…I'm sorry to disturb you." His mouth was dry when he spoke.

A brief but severe frown passed over King Edmund's face before he cleared his expression and said in nonchalant voice, as if Peridan mattered no more to him than a fly "Please, don't mention it, Lord…?" He seemed to express no regret in not remembering Peridan's name.

"P-Peridan," he supplied, stammering. He felt small and foolish.

Then something rather strange happened. King Edmund's sharp black gaze was still on him, and after a moment he nodded and drew a bottle of wine from his lap, where it had been concealed by the book. Peridan refrained from raising his eyebrows, but he did wonder why the King of Narnia felt he had to conceal anything.

Peridan realized he had been staring when the King asked rather pointedly "Are you looking for something?" He looked Peridan up and down, taking in every inch of him, and Peridan found himself praying he had not missed a button or turned his cuff wrong, for surely the King's sharp eyes would spot any small mistake.

He took a breath, making every effort not to falter under that black stare. For some reason it became vital to Peridan not to let his nerves show. He held up his book, his stance purposefully casual. "I was just…bringing this back. And hoping to borrow another…" His voice was steady but he still sounded unsure, and he cursed himself.

King Edmund let this pass. He nodded and waved Peridan over to the bookshelf, a careless, regal wave which showed that Peridan's movements really didn't mean very much. "Help yourself."

As Peridan walked to the bookshelf he could feel King Edmund's eyes on him. He willed himself to walk with grace. He had not quite reached the bookshelf when the King's voice interrupted his studied concentration. "What is it you were reading?"

Peridan started, and cursed himself for it before he turned around. "Oh…just a book of tales from before the long winter." Every time he spoke he hated himself more. Of course King Edmund saw him as small and insignificant. He was acting small and insignificant. Though this chafed at him, he couldn't seem to gather the courage to behave otherwise.

His timid response earned an eyebrow raise from the King, and he plunged forward, trying to sound more secure. "They talked about the start of it…it was…interesting." He pressed his lips together. He had never felt more uncomfortable in his life. He wanted so much to be something, but King Edmund's eyes alone reduced him to nothing. "Have you read it?"

At last, at last King Edmund's eyes left his face to fall on the bottle which stood before him on the table. Peridan found that he was watching King Edmund closely too, for he saw a muscle in his cheek jump before the King shook his head and said in a cool tone. "No…can't say that I have. It doesn't really interest me."

Here Peridan felt like an utter fool. He let the book fall to his side, realizing only then that he had been holding it up on display all this time. "Oh," he said inelegantly. He laid it on the shelf and looked at the spine again, his hand on the grainy leather. He contracted his brows. He could leave the book and scurry out like a frightened animal, or he could stay and ask "Perhaps then you could recommend another?"

King Edmund did not raise his eyes. Indeed for a moment he did not even seem to acknowledge that Peridan had asked a question until after a long moment he rose and joined Peridan at the bookshelf. Peridan tried not to gape, but his mind started ticking with questions. Why, after making him feel so small, was the King now getting up to help him select a book? Why did he suddenly want to run as far away from that room as he could? Why did his feet feel as if they were glued to the floor? Why did everything suddenly seem warmer?

"Perhaps I can," said King Edmund, shaking Peridan from his thoughts. "What kind of thing do you like? Fiction? Non-fiction?"

"Anything really," Peridan answered, and suddenly his voice was more even. Encouraged by his small success at mastering himself, he plunged forward. "I've always loved books, but there aren't too many at my estate. My family doesn't really put stock in reading, though I've always loved it." As soon as the words finished tumbling out of his mouth he closed his eyes and cursed himself for babbling.

King Edmund smiled at this, but it was a condescending smile, one which told Peridan he did sound completely foolish. The King's eyes returned to the bookshelf, scanning it for just a half second before he pulled down a book and thrust it almost roughly into Peridan's hands. Peridan juggled it a moment to avoid dropping it. Then he went back to the table and sat on it this time, swinging his legs. He gestured at the book with the bottle, which he had taken up again. "Try that one."

Peridan gripped the book tightly, looking down at it a moment. "Thank you. I will." When he looked up again he caught the end of a nod and a brief smile that King Edmund was gracing him with. He tilted his head and examined this smile, forgetting the rules of propriety for a moment. The curve of the King's mouth, fading so quickly now, was natural and genuine. As he examined the gentle curl of his lips, Peridan felt a jolt of something in his stomach, a new lurch not born of nerves. But he chanced to examine King Edmund's eyes and found them still so cold and sharp. He didn't know what to make of this boy King before him, and this made him fidget a bit. Finally he offered in the awkward tone he had been using at the beginning of the conversation "Well…it's almost dinner. I suppose I should…"

King Edmund took another sip of wine, tilting the green bottle back. Peridan could see the muscles in his throat working as he swallowed. When he was done drinking he looked at the bottle and not at Peridan when he offered "Pre-dinner drink?" He looked up after making his offer, and the smile he gave Peridan was challenging, but not hostile.

He blinked in surprise and almost took a step backwards. An offer to stay and drink with this imperious King of Narnia was the last thing he had been expecting. He could excuse himself with grace and avoid the sharp nerves that almost made him tremble. Or he could face down this King, see if there was something behind that stare, try and win his respect. "I…" he began uncertainly, before finishing in a clear, smooth voice, "Yes. Thank you."

He approached a chair just opposite the King's and waited for permission to sit, as courtiers do. He felt King Edmund's eyes on him again as he moved, and he got the distinct impression that the King was playing a game with him, testing him somehow. He quailed, wondering if he had done the right thing to accept, wondering if he could back out now. But then it was if his mind was a coin. He flipped it over and saw the other side of himself. Somehow he knew that if King Edmund wanted to play a game, he could play as well. He could match him, even if Edmund was a King. He gave a half smile of his own.

King Edmund passed him the bottle, watching him closely. Only after a long moment did he remember to invite Peridan to sit. Peridan did so, and took a draught of the wine. Oddly, he thought that King Edmund's lips had been wrapped around the bottle's mouth just moments before, and that seemed such an odd thing to notice that he was a little startled when the wine passed through his lips. Everyone of quality knew that Archelandish red wine was better than Narnian red wine, but it was strong. The custom was to dilute it with water. Peridan had only tasted a little wine since being at court, mostly light Narnian stuff, and at home Aunt permitted him to drink only wine which was heavily watered. King Edmund's bottle was undiluted, and as Peridan tasted it he wanted to splutter with surprise at the strong taste. But this was all part of the game, and he forced it down without so much as a grimace. He passed the bottle back with a nod and a smile, feeling as though he had won a small victory.

Indeed he had, for as King Edmund received the bottle back he replied with a nod of his own, a reluctant dip of the head which showed he was impressed. It was all Peridan could do not to smile. King Edmund asked as he took another sip "You like wine?"

"Certainly," Peridan lied smoothly, rather shocked at how easily he did so. He waited to see what would come next in the game.

King Edmund coughed ever so slightly, looking down at his hands as his long fingers worked over each other. "Do you…like it here? You were here last year, weren't you?"

"I was. And I do. It's nice to get away from home." Peridan's voice was soft with surprise. Perhaps he was not so small.

"That's nice. My sister told me you were here last time. I don't remember seeing you."

Peridan's brows contracted with disappointment. Who did he think he was to spar word with King Edmund. "Ah. Right. Of course. Well, both their Majesties the Queens are wonderful hosts."

They talked for awhile about the Queens. When Peridan spoke of Queen Susan, he felt King Edmund's eyes sharpen as they fell upon him. He caught a frown and stared into the King's face to challenge him. Why should he let King Edmund dictate whether or not he should talk to Queen Susan? That was her choice. What started as a challenge, though, ended up as an examination. King Edmund was undeniably handsome. His black hair was straight and ever so perfectly disheveled, his features were fine and even. Peridan's fingers twitched. He ached for a pencil to try to capture this face before him. He wanted to understand him, know why those eyes were so hard and sharp. Suddenly words were coming out of his mouth, though he could not remember preparing this question as part of their little game "Do you spend a lot of time in the library, your Highness? If I may be so bold as to ask."

King Edmund lifted the bottle between them to drink so that Peridan's study of his face was interrupted. He took a long drink, closing his eyes before setting the bottle down with a dull thunk on the polished wood. He wiped his lips before saying "I do."

Peridan got the distinct impression he was gaining ground. He took up the bottle and readied himself to take another unflinching sip of the strong wine. "You enjoy reading then?"

"I do," King Edmund's eyes were a little unfocused.

"And talking? Do you enjoy that?"

As soon as the words were out, Peridan almost clapped a hand over his mouth in shock. He wondered where he got the cheek to talk to his King like that. He could lose everything on this one stupid stroke.

But no. King Edmund raised his eyebrows. And he laughed. He composed himself after a moment and fixed Peridan with an imperious look, but Peridan noticed that his eyes were twinkling, teasing him, almost as an equal. "If there's anything much to say…or anyone much to talk to…I do."

A warmth settled in Peridan's chest. Logically he attributed it to the wine, but it might have had something to do with earning a laugh from the king, and seeing his still sparking eyes fixed on him. "I see. So I take it you are implying you don't have much to say? After all, I am here to talk to." He took a long swig of wine then, finding it lent him a little courage.

King Edmund took the bottle from him, and his fingers brushed Peridan's as they closed around the cool glass. It took Peridan just a second too long to let the bottle go. The King tilted his head and shrugged as if to brush off Peridan's question, but at the same time he met Peridan's eyes and raised a challenging eyebrow. "What do _you_ like to do then, my Lord?"

Peridan continued to match his gaze. "Me? Reading, naturally. I also like to ride. And…and paint." He couldn't avoid mentioning it, but he couldn't hold eye contact when he mentioned this. What if he saw the same disapproval in the King's face that he saw in Aunt's and Uncle's? What if he really was a fool for wanting to be an artist?

The dinner gong sounded and King Edmund jumped down off the table. He stored the bottle in an almost secret cupboard, locking it with a key he took from his pocket. As he moved he said neutrally "You should talk to Susan then…she's got a craze for art just now." That was it. No approval, but no condescension. Peridan watched him, amazed. King Edmund straightened up and swiped a hand over his hair, their brief conversation about art forgotten. "Don't look too under the influence, do I?"

He looked up at him and smiled, shaking his head slowly, still half drinking in the casual acceptance of King Edmund. After a moment he remembered he should be on his feet as well and he rose, still looking boldly into the face of his king.

He earned a bland, noncommittal smile. "I suppose we'd better go down to dinner then. Peter'll have a fit if I'm late."

"Yes, we'd better," Peridan agreed. His mouth was dry, but he couldn't really name the cause. He bowed briefly to break eye contact with the king and he said in a light jest "Lead the way then, your Majesty." He flashed a smile.

King Edmund said nothing as he turned to leave the room, but Peridan swore he could have heard him laugh under his breath. The time would come when Peridan found out he did laugh.

He watched the monarchs more carefully than ever at dinner. The High King and Queen Lucy were engaged in a conversation with Mr. Tumnus, the famous faun, dearest friend to the Kings and Queens. Queen Lucy was as animated as ever, and in the midst of her story something lovely happened: she made her brother laugh. The High King tilted his head back and his laugh rang through the hall, clear and deep. Everyone smiled down the length of the hall, and Queen Susan laid a hand on her brother's arm, smiling at him. He grinned back and shared the joke with help from Queen Lucy, and King Edmund leaned over to hear it as well. Peridan watched the happy family curiously, because for a moment they lost their regal splendor and became just four siblings. He found a stub of a pencil and a scrap of paper in his pocket and he spread these on his lap, sketching the tableau. Queen Susan caught his gaze as he examined her, trying to capture the smile and the sorrow that mingled in her eyes. She smiled at him kindly. Half the time he worked, though, he could feel King Edmund's eyes on him, that black, appraising gaze.


	8. Chapter 6 Destiny Part Two

**A/N: To all who have written such encouraging reviews and come to my/ Peridan's defense**,** thank you. Your encouragement means a lot to me...hence the new chapter! As for those who feel otherwise, though I guess such a notice is a bit too late in Chapter 7, I encourage you to hang in there. This story is not slash for slash's sake, and Peridan explores the issue of being gay better than I could explain myself. And, I might add, we have yet to see some slash.**

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His brief encounter with King Edmund did little to embolden him. Rather, when he thought back on it he felt a squirm of embarrassment inside him. He had been such a fool, babbling on like that. Luckily the King didn't talk much about him to the others. If he had Peridan would have known, for the Lords and Ladies of the court had a blithe love of gossip and dancing, something which further alienated Peridan because he himself had never been one for idle chatter. Nevertheless, he was sure if King Edmund decided to talk, some breeze of it would have reached his ears. The vague comfort of this idea did not put him at ease.

He thought about his distance from everyone and considered whether it might be worth trying to fold himself into society more. He wondered if he could learn the art of gossip even if it wasn't natural to him. He wondered if it was worth his time. What could be gained by hearing which Lord had presented which Lady with a flower? He noticed that King Edmund remained similarly distant, talking to a very select few. Most evenings Peridan sat tucked into a corner with his portfolio on his lap, sketching the monarchs and saying little to anyone. More often than not, King Edmund was in the opposite corner watching the proceedings in silence.

Queen Susan, Queen Lucy, and the High King barely seemed to notice him watching. When he passed Queen Susan in the halls she would bestow her lovely smile on him, but when the company was assembled she seemed to spend a lot of the time staring off into the room unseeingly. But King Edmund always noticed Peridan's inspection. Peridan never found an accusation or even direct displeasure in his gaze, but he always feared he would. His black eyes always found Peridan's and questioned him without saying a word. So despite their brief encounter Peridan's courage flagged, and he never drew a picture of King Edmund.

One night, though, the King seemed tired. It was late in the evening, and almost everyone had gone to bed. King Edmund was supporting himself on a pillar, his eyes half closed, his head tilted back. He held a goblet in one hand and though he seemed still immaculate at first glance, Peridan soon noticed the little details which belied the fact that he was under the influence. The clasp of the King's cape was under his ear instead of under his chin. The end of his belt was not neatly looped but hung haphazardly, while one of his cuffs had come unfolded and covered his hand. All his sharp angles had softened, his guard was down, and at last Peridan began to study him with unreserved fascination. Covertly, he drew out his sketchbook at last and started to draw King Edmund, drawing him in slow strokes as he had longed to do for some time. Why exactly Edmund fascinated him so much he wasn't entirely sure. All he knew was that he felt a deep rooted satisfaction in drawing even the lashes on his half-closed eyes.

He watched as the High King talked to his brother, and he wrinkled his nose in amusement when he saw Queen Susan come into the scene to mother King Edmund. A strand of hair fell into Peridan's eyes, but he brushed it away and continued working, adding some shading to the space underneath King Edmund's lip before beginning to outline the High King.

He didn't know Queen Susan had made her way over to him until a shadow fell across the paper. He knew it was her when he heard her speak in her low and melodious voice "Good evening, Lord Peridan. Are you well?"

He jumped and blushed, looking up at her with a tremulous smile as he tried to cover his picture. What would the Queen say if she saw how he was spying on her family? "Yes, your Majesty," he murmured. "Very well. And yourself?"

She tilted her head, and as she examined him her cheeks colored ever so slightly, like the soft blush on a rose petal. "I'm fine. Very happy to have you here, I must say. It's always nice to have guests. You're settling in well enough, I trust?"

"Yes. It's lovely here," Peridan answered with warmth. He kept his manners correct not because he felt he should, but because he wanted to show her some respect. He felt in his bones that she was a very great and very good lady. "My aunt and uncle are very grateful for this opportunity you've given me—and so am I."

This earned him a sweet smile from the Queen, one without guile or challenge. She sat down next to him, saying "The pleasure is ours, I assure you." After a moment during which Peridan shifted to better hide his picture, she added "I'm sorry to disturb you…are you working?"

"You couldn't disturb me, your Majesty," Peridan answered with automatic grace. He thought about the Queen's question. What was he doing? He paused a second, during which time Aunt's crisp scoldings fought with Renfrew's simple assessment: _You have the gift_. Aunt won out due to sheer volume. "And no, I'm not working. Merely some idle amusement," he said, his eyes falling to the paper. He was sure she'd think the worse of him for these portraits, and he cursed himself for being so very obvious. He should have hidden his work away.

She touched his arm gently, and when he looked up, her eyes were upon him, soft with gentle inquiry. "May I see?"

Here was a dilemma. Could he refuse his Queen? Moreover, did he really want to? He felt himself blush furiously. "Oh…um…" He let his eyes drop to conceal his embarrassment. Or at least so that he wouldn't see the reflection of it in the Queen's face.

But she dipped her head underneath his so that he couldn't escape. He had to look into her eyes, and he saw kindness there, and strangely, an almost pleading look. She could command him to show her, and yet she asked softly "Please?"

Queen Susan's beauty was going fast from famous to legendary. In such proximity to her, Peridan realized that this was only partly due to her fair face. Her gentle, kind ways made him want to do anything for her, so that this one request would have been impossible to refuse even if he wasn't hungry for an audience and some approval. He turned the page to her wordlessly, displaying his sketch of Edmund.

She took the paper from him and held it with both hands, staring down at it as if trying to figure out what it was. Peridan's heart started to beat rapidly. He was sure her disapproval would come next. Would she show the High King and would he get angry? Would she show King Edmund, and would he mock it? Somehow this last possibility was most daunting of all. But no. After taking in the sketch a moment, her eyes lit up and a smile spread across her face. Peridan smiled too, though unconsciously. He could feel his lips trembling. She looked from the sketch to the Kings, and finally at him before she breathed with obvious delight "Peridan! My! This…this is _wonderful_."

Peridan ducked his head to conceal his happiness. He wanted to wriggle with joy, like a small child. He managed to keep himself still and murmur "Thank you. That's very kind, your Majesty."

She shook her head, still smiling at him. Peridan thought how lovely it was to bask in her smile. Not a courtier's smile, but a real honest smile, the sort she gave her brothers on that night when he had sketched them as a family. "Not kind…it's not even nearly what I mean. I can't tell you how wonderful this is!" When King Edmund and the High King heard her delight, they looked over. Peridan's stomach did a little flip and he swallowed down his nerves. Queen Susan must have seen something of this reaction, for when she spoke again her voice was much softer, and she spoke to him alone. "Have you…have you done anything else?"

Peridan looked between her and the portfolio in his lap, pressing his lips together. Eventually he drew out the first sketch he had done, the one of Queen Susan and Queen Lucy together and displayed it for her. Her mouth fell open, and she brushed the page lightly with her fingertip, tracing the line of Lucy's nose. "Is that…?" When he shrugged and smiled, she beamed. "That's Lucy!"

"It's not quite right yet, you see," Peridan demurred. "The neck…and Queen Lucy's smile…" He pointed to these imperfections in the picture, reminding himself to be modest. Queen Susan was still smiling at the picture though, so he felt he ought to add "But, um, yes. It's Queen Lucy. You and Queen Lucy, really."

She shook her head. "It looks just like her! And me…well…you're _too _flattering!"

Her obvious delight warmed Peridan to the tips of his toes. Never had anyone praised his work so warmly. He had toiled for two years in order to earn one nod of acknowledgement from Renfrew, and before him Alon had been an impatient teacher, correcting his mistakes with a tut and an impatient sweep of the brush, but never actually praising his work. Even Juliette had examined his paintings rather than enjoying them. He wanted to somehow show his gratitude, so he did the only thing he could think of. "You may keep it, if you like," he offered. "I'd be honored."

"Really?" she looked up at him with wide eyes.

She seemed so very delighted to have the picture, so charmed by his company that he began to feel a little more confident. This wasn't the false confidence he showed King Edmund, but an honest feeling of safety. "Well, the Queen of Narnia becoming a fan of my work is a very unlooked-for compliment." This was the first time he heard himself use the half-teasing, half-sincere tone that he would take up so many times with Susan. Feeling he was being a touch too forward, he added, reverting back to shyness "I couldn't think of a better home for it, if you really like it."

"Oh, I do! So much—may I show it to Lucy? And the others?"

Peridan's stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. He glanced over at the kings, and the thought of King Edmund inspecting his work filled him with pride and dread at the same time. He swallowed and gave up the choice to Queen Susan. "Oh…well, it's yours," he said a bit thickly, biting his lip.

She examined the picture for a moment, smiling still, and then all at once she took his arm. "Peridan, will you come with me a moment? I very much want to show you something."

He could not even begin to imagine what she could want to show him. What was he to her but a shy young Lord who doodled pictures of her family? He had to follow and see if there was anything more "Yes of course, your Majesty," he answered. She rose and took up his arm, leading him away from the crowds in the room and the hallways. As they left, Peridan could have sworn he felt King Edmund's gaze upon them, but he couldn't be entirely sure.

The halls of the castle were a strange combination of flickering shadows and the warm yellow light of the torches and the paler, more silvery light of the moon. Peridan noticed that as Queen Susan passed through all these different lightings, the moonlight suited her best of all, giving her pale skin a pearly cast and making her dark hair shine secretly. He thought she was more beautiful than any person he had ever seen, and he ached for the chance to paint her, to try and capture this beauty. He noticed also that when they passed through the shadows in the passageways she drew closer to him. Her hand gripped his arm a little tighter and her eyes grew a little wider, as if searching the darkness for some secret. He looked past the shadows, towards the light. He didn't want to think about what lay hidden for him. If he looked too hard, he saw coils of rope.

At last they passed into a long gallery with windows which stretched from floor to ceiling all along one wall. "This is going to be my art gallery," Queen Susan whispered, and at once he remembered what King Edmund had said: "You should talk to my sister. She has a craze for art just now." He glanced at Queen Susan's face, half in light, half in shadow, and he could see two warring emotions in her face—an eagerness for approval and a womanly pride in her own private space.

The moonlight was streaming through the clear glass—these panes had not been colored—and Peridan could see instantly that this would make a brilliant gallery. The light would be incredible with the southern exposure, and at night chandeliers hung from the high, arched ceiling could distribute light evenly around the room. _If I could paint something worthy of this gallery_, he thought to himself, _then I would call myself an artist_. "It's a wonderful choice," he said aloud. "What art will you have?" He thought of Alon's aspirations, and his fevered muttering seemed to come from so many years ago. "There are some fine painters in the Lone Islands, but their work is more in the Calormene style, you know. Not very lifelike."

He thought she would look bored, or worse still that she would think him full of so much hot air, but when he paused to glance at the Queen, she was nodding, her eyes attentive and keen. He thought that maybe she seemed like she wanted to know more.

He blushed. Who knew he would have something to say that would be of interest to Queen Susan? He started to wander around the room so he wouldn't be so presumptuous, but soon he became fascinated. His steps echoed a bit on the marble tiled floor and with each clicking step his mind started to tick over the possibilities for this room. He nearly forgot he was talking to his Queen, he became so caught up in his musings on art. The words came pouring out of him without pause or filter, because finally he had an outlet, he could talk about the great passion of his life. "The Archenlandish school is interesting. They have the Calormene use of color, but the paintings are a little more lifelike. Though I'd imagine you'll want some Narnian art for the Queen's gallery. You know, fauns do lovely sculpting in clay. Mr. Tumnus was telling me about his works earlier this evening." He stopped himself then. How long had he been going on? Surely he sounded crazed, or at the very least too enthusiastic for his own good. He glanced in Queen Susan's direction, but he couldn't look her in the face. He was too afraid of seeing disapproval or ridicule there.

"Yes," she said, "He's very talented. He gave me a bust of Lucy for my birthday." She approached him with her gliding, graceful movements and took up his arm again, leading him over to a newly hung painting. He couldn't see the subject of it, because it was covered with a dust sheet. She gestured at the painting and said with a blush "I…I wanted to have some paintings of the others to look at when…when they go away, you know?"

He looked at her carefully, tilting his head. When she spoke of her brothers and sister riding off, all the artifice fell away from her face, and for just a second he saw her loneliness and her sadness. He thought back to that family sketch he had done and realized that these four must be very important to each other. Peridan wondered what it might be like to worry so much for someone.

She smiled shyly at this nod and gripped the sheet in her fist. "Well…I asked around, and I found an artist who they said was very good…I commissioned a portrait of Peter, but…well, have a look." She tugged on the sheet a bit, struggling to pull it off the painting. The sheet almost refused to come away.

Eventually she succeeded, and a laugh escaped Peridan's lips before he could stop it. The picture was absolutely ludicrous. It showed the high king in full armor, holding his sword aloft and gazing heavenward, seemingly in awe of his own nobility. The artist had tried playing with light and attempted to portray gleaming armor against a dark background, but the contrast was so sharp it was laughably amateurish, and it made the High King seem garish and egotistical rather than the noble King he had watched so often. He tried to fight down his laughter, but the more he tried, the harder he laughed. "Oh Queen Susan," he choked out. "I'm so sorry…it's not the High King, really."

She glanced at the portrait, her cheeks growing red. Then she giggled. "He _hates_ it!"

"That's just…well, it's not very like him, is it?" Peridan gasped. He was still laughing, but trying to explain his bad manners.

But she laughed too. "It's not the Peter I know, no! Not at all!"

Finally Peridan mastered himself and he stepped closer to the painting to examine it. He squinted up at it experimentally, trying to figure out what exactly was so laughable when the High King was certainly not a laughable figure. "We'll leave off that the pose isn't very like the High King at all. But the proportions are also wrong. He's much broader in the shoulder, for example." He reached up to brush this part of the painting with his fingertips. It was so large he could only just reach. "And the expression! The expression is all wrong."

Queen Susan shrugged elegantly. "I don't know about technicalities. All I know is that if Peter knew this was hanging in here, he would go spare!" She looked at Peridan and giggled helplessly.

"You ought to get him a better one, really," he ventured to say, laughing himself.

"Yes. I really ought to." She glanced up at the painting and then sidewise at him. "If you were going to paint Peter, how would you do it do you think?"

He tilted his head to one side, tapping his chin as he surveyed the picture. "Well, for starters I might ask him how he wanted to be painted. Let him choose the pose. And then…well, I'd probably talk to him as I worked, so I could get to know him a little. Without knowing your subject you get…well, this. It doesn't say anything of the High King to me at all."

"No," she murmured, smiling affectionately at the painting and touching it with the tip of her finger. "It's not my brother." Peridan inspected her face as she looked at the painting. He almost could have painted a portrait of the High King from the look he saw in Queen Susan's eyes. They were so full of fondness for her brother, and love, and respect. Peridan wondered what it must be like to be a brother adored the way Queen Susan adored the High King, to have someone who missed him when he was away and who would welcome him home. He pressed his lips together and tried not to look wistful, turning his attention to the painting.

Suddenly Queen Susan turned and caught up his hands, turning so that she faced him. "Oh, Peridan…will you help me? Will _you_ paint them for me?"

His heart seemed to stop for a moment, and in that time he felt his eyes widen. When his heart started beating again, it hammered wildly in his chest. "Me?"

Her eyes were wide and pleading as she nodded, that look that he did not have the heart to refuse. "Yes…your drawings of them were so beautiful. And so lifelike! I feel sure that if you painted my family for me I should never be able to feel lonely again." She gripped his hands tighter. "Won't you please?"

He stared at her for a full minute, his eyes wide and his throat dry. He forced himself to swallow and find his voice. His hands were still caught up in hers, but he managed a fairly elegant bow. "I couldn't refuse my Queen. Though I think you overestimate my talents," he murmured modestly.

"I may not know a lot about art, but I know what I like. And I like your work. Very much."

Peridan gripped a little tighter to her hands as a wave of dizziness washed over him. This couldn't be. He must be in some fevered dream…no, because he could never have imagined this happening. Then he remembered Renfrew's words, all that he was destined for. Could this be the beginning? He started to feel a little short of breath, but he managed to breathe "I'm so honored. Really." He imagined riding out to Cair Paravel every day, making full portraits of the sketches he had been wanting to develop. When he thought of riding to the castle from home, his heart sank. His supplies were still locked up there, and Aunt was still vehemently opposed to his art. Now he was forced to admit this to his Queen. "My aunt says I waste my time doodling," he said, his eyes on the floor. "She saws my hands are better suited to other, more useful activities like holding a sword."

The Queen looked away for a moment, staring into a dark corner of the room. "They say the same of me," she said with a slight frown. "Simply because I can shoot an arrow well enough, I 'dawdle' around the castle instead of riding to war as my sister does. I'm sure there are people who think I do nothing all day but lounge around on velvet cushions eating bonbons."

The first reaction Peridan had was one of honest disbelief. "No! Your Majesty, who would think such a thing?" he said, almost reprovingly. A second later, though, he realized he understood exactly what she was saying. Someone had once told her she was wrong or unnatural or a waste, and she remembered that every time she looked at himself. He knew that all too well.

She laughed a little, but it was a laugh without mirth. "Oh, who knows!" she said. She was trying to sound airy, but Peridan knew she was recalling someone's exact words. She squeezed his hands. "This is _my_ domain, Peridan, and you needn't feel awkward about your 'doodling' as you call it, because I adore it. I've never seen anything so beautiful. It's as if you took my thoughts and pinned them down on paper. While you're here, you must doodle as much as you want. In fact, I would be rather obliged if you did. And I shall write to your aunt and tell her how well Susan the Gentle loves her nephew's work."

He could not believe these words were real, that she really cared so much for _his _work. A thrill vibrated deep inside him. There weren't words, or any way of expressing how he felt. Everything seemed possible now. "I should like that very much," he whispered, ducking his head.

"Then it is agreed," she said, beaming at him. Peridan felt this smile as much as he saw it. "You will make my portraits for me. Three of them…Peter, Lucy, and Edmund. And I will get you all the materials you need. You shall have your own studio here in the castle."

Thus with a simple pronouncement everything in Peridan's life changed. He stared at the moonlight playing across the ceiling of his room for hours after everyone was asleep, turning over his future in his mind. He was to live in the castle, leave his estate behind, and draw every day under the Queen's command. He could not believe his luck. But perhaps it was not luck after all. Perhaps it was just as Renfrew said, and this was his destiny.


	9. Chapter 7 Portraits

**A/N: A bit lengthy, but hopefully that's a good thing! Your feedback makes me happy and less stressed out (theses suck).**

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When Peridan woke up the next morning, he felt sure he had been daydreaming. The memory of the night before still hung about him, filling him with tingling jolts of hope and expectation, but he did his best to quash them. "I am going back to Aunt and Uncle tomorrow," he told himself. "I might as well get prepared."

As soon as he came down to breakfast, though, Queen Susan rose from her palce at the dais and came to him smiling. He blushed to think that the Queen who no one could take their eyes off was coming to talk to him. She squeezed his forearm in greeting.

"Good morning, Lord Peridan," she said warmly.

He gave a small bow. "Good morning, your Majesty."

She continued to smile at him. "I'm glad you're here. We have so much to discuss. I thought perhaps we could do that over breakfast."

Peridan found he was rather tongue-tied, and could only nod his assent.

He felt the eyes of several Lords on him as Queen Susan guided him to a table and settled herself in a chair quite close to his. She did not seem to notice the obvious stares and instead turned her attentions wholly on Peridan, paying him the thousand small attentions she paid her brothers. She poured his tea and made sure the butter and jam were at his elbow. All the while she talked about her plans for his new career as portraitist—a studio in the same hallway as the gallery with its southern exposure, any tool or shade of paint he could imagine needing, and a room of his own in the castle.

"I imagine the room you're staying in now would be easiest," she commented as she refilled his cup, "But if it should displease you for any reason, we can find you another."

"You would—you would have me stay here?" he asked. He couldn't have heard right.

To Peridan's surprise, she blushed. "If you like—or if your estate can spare you." She looked past him, into the recesses of the room. "This castle seems quite empty sometimes. It would be nice to have some friendly faces around. And…I thought to ride from the other side of Lionshaim would be quite far every day."

Peridan was astonished by her apparent bashfulness. Had she any idea what she was offering him? And she, his Queen, actually sounded uncertain. When at last he found words, he gripped her hands, seeking to reassure her. "Your Majesty, you must forgive me if I say little. I cannot think of anything _to_ say, except that you've given me more than I could wish for. Find me a bale of hay in the stable and I would gladly make my bed there." He laughed a little, and she did too, a breathy laugh which made him smile. He pressed his lips together and continued. "I should very much like to stay, but you may have to convince my family."

Still smiling, she squeezed his hands. "Don't you worry about that. Perhaps I can have Peter write something to your parents."

"Not my parents—my aunt and uncle," Peridan corrected. "My parents died when I was very small. There was a sickness."

The Queen looked stricken, and she disengaged on of her hands to put the tips of her fingers to her slightly open mouth. "Oh Peridan," she breathed. "I'm so sorry."

When he saw the sympathy in her face, Peridan was sorry too. He never really thought much about his parents since he had been so little when they died. But now he began to wonder if they would have scorned his art so. If his father would have beaten him as his uncle had. "It's alright," he murmured. "I was so little when they died. I don't really remember them."

Her kind eyes were shining with tears, and she stroked his arm. "That makes it all the worse."

The sympathy in her eyes grew to be unbearable. He dropped his to his plate and disengaged his hands as politely as he could, murmuring, "If your Majesty could somehow convince my aunt and my uncle, it would be the greatest honor I've ever received to stay here in the castle." He meant every word he said, but he couldn't look at her. If he did, that wish to be embraced would well up again. He knew he couldn't ask the Queen of Narnia to hold him, but her tender sympathy made him wish for the first time in his life that he had someone who would.

Three days later, the estate's carriage pulled through the castle gates. Peridan saw his family crest from where he sat at the window in the library. He glanced over at King Edmund, who had been working without looking up all morning and who did not look up now, and he went down to greet the carriage. He half expected his aunt to come sweeping down from the carriage demanding to see the Queen, but all the carriage held was his trunk and a brief note. The estate servants unpacked the trunk and left it in the courtyard for the castle staff to manage. Though Peridan knew both the boys, they looked at him as though he was a stranger, and the one Aunt had trained as chief footman bowed and handed him a note.

_Peridan,_

_Conssider it lucky to have been discovered by the Queen of Narnia. See to it that you do not waste this opportunity for our family. Enclosed are your things. Send someone if you need anything._

_Aunt Minna_

_P.S. Your uncle wants to know if you will be home in time for planting._

That, Peridan knew would be the closes either of them would come to saying they missed him. He screwed up his mouth and cast the paper aside. But he couldn't bring himself to throw it away.

He spent the next couple of hours unpacking, arranging things so the room would seem most homelike. He was contemplating where his small stockpile of books might go when Queen Susan knocked on his door.

"I saw your carriage drive up," she said, " and I thought I might come to see if you had everything you needed and were settling in well." Though it was her castle, she waited on the threshold until Peridan invited her in.

He smiled hospitably. Come in and see for yourself." He stood aside to admit her.

She entered and surveyed the room. She wandered over to the bed and picked up the books, shelving them absently as she spoke. "You're sure you don't lack for anything? Really, Lord Peridan, you need only say the word. Please don't be shy."

When she said this, he blushed to the roots of his hair. He _was_ feeling shy, but only part of that was the manners drilled into him. "Your Majesty needn't do my chores," he murmured.

She looked down at the books in her hands, and her own cheeks turn a little pink. "Oh…I just like to keep busy," she said. When Peridan chanced to glance at her, he saw that sadness clinging to her. He wondered if he could reach out and break the membrane, release her.

"Well, thank you," it was all he felt was proper to say.

She looked up at him and her lips twitched upwards, suggesting a smile. She reached for another book and wound up grabbing his aunt's brief note. She scanned it to see what it was and wound up reading the whole of it before politesse could even kick in. "That's all she had to say?"

Peridan shrugged. "We're not a very expressive family."

She looked at him a long moment, her eyes colored with sympathy. She stepped forward now and pressed his hands. She said "I hope you'll join us for dinner tonight. It will be much quieter since all the guests are gone." In her tone, however, he heard something more tender, and as she left the room he watched after her a long time.

Peridan was in the habit of waking up early. Though he preferred the quiet of night, Aunt Minna and Uncle Kieran kept a farmer's clock and were up with the sun. That of course meant Peridan was up as well, so in general he learned to function with very little sleep. Then of course he hadn't quite settled into the castle. He may not have always liked living under their rule, but his aunt and uncle were the only family he knew. His room was beautiful but strange; he didn't quite know what to do with his new freedom. Though he was free to sleep late, he woke up at the same time he did at home, more often than not to a quiet castle.

On one such sunny morning he wandered down to the breakfast room. He found it empty, so he took a pear from the fruit bowl and sat down. He chewed pensively as he reflected on his place in the castle. He supposed he was a noble of the Narnian court and thus entitled to rights and privileges of Lords of Narnia. He never really thought about that before. He was not no one. He had power in this country, but he had never felt empowered a day in his life. _And if I was empowered, what could I be? Who do I want to be?_

As he was thinking on this, he heard quick footsteps in the hall. A moment later, Queen Lucy came tripping in blithely. She beamed when she saw him. "Good morning, Lord Peridan," she said warmly, dipping into a curtsey.

He had scrambled to his feet the moment she appeared, and now he bowed formally. "Good morning, your Majesty."

She blushed and giggled. "Oh, please don't go through all those formalities with me. I'm still not used to it, and I had to threaten Tumnus with banishment if he didn't stop. I'm just Lucy." She looked quickly at Peridan, still half bent in his bow. "Or Queen Lucy, if you really can't break yourself of the habit."

He wrinkled his nose, and something perverse inspired him to challenge her with "You started it with the curtsey."

She laughed. "I suppose I did. Well, let us be agreed, then. We shall be nothing but friends." She extended her hand not for him to kiss, but to shake. He did. Then she seated herself across from him and began to chatter away as if they really were old friends. "I'm glad we're agreed, because I really do owe you a debt of gratitude. Susan's thrilled about the portraits, and it's good to see her so happy about something." A shadow passed over the Queen's open face when she reflected on her sister a moment. She forced this expression away with a smile. "So thank you."

Peridan gave her a nod in return. He found he didn't want to run away from her or hide behind a blush and manners, he wanted to talk to her. "It's my pleasure. Really," he said, and his voice was much clearer than usual.

She beamed and offered him some toast, which he accepted. "Susan says you come from the Lone Islands."

He swallowed hurriedly before answering. "I grew up on Doorn, yes."

"That's the last one, isn't it? So you grew up on the edge of the world. Did you ever sail past it, or meet anyone who had?"

Peridan shook his head. "No, but I always wondered. There was always someone in the pubs talking about getting a ship and mounting an expedition, but it was always idle talk. Nothing ever came of it."

"Ed and I talk about going exploring sometimes," Lucy said thoughtfully, "but I don't think Peter would ever let us. Even so, sometimes we sit together and look over the maps and plan what our voyage would be if we did ever go."

"I'm surprised," Peridan mused. "He spends so much time in the library, I wouldn't have pegged King Edmund for an adventurer."

She laughed. "Don't let that fool you! He's not like Tumnus, who reads for comfort. I think Edmund even reads for adventure's sake, so he can _know_. He always wants to know. Like me."

_Drinks in secret, likes adventure…_ Peridan began to tally his mental list of King Edmund. He couldn't figure out why he was so fascinated by someone who hardly seemed to tolerate him, and yet there was something irresistibly intriguing about him.

In the midst of this reverie, he heard Queen Lucy call "Good morning, Susan!"

He looked up to see Queen Susan entering the room and caught the end of her pensive gaze as she smiled for her sister. She came and kissed Queen Lucy, and Peridan had a moment to compare the two in the gentle light. He decided they were both beautiful, but where Lucy shone, Susan glowed. Lucy's gold hair reflected all the brightness of the morning sun, while Susan's skin had all the pearly beauty of the early light. Then Queen Susan turned to him, and he ducked his head to pretend he hadn't been watching.

"Good morning, Lord Peridan," she said.

Before he could answer in kind, Lucy snatched her sister's arm. "Susan! Is it ready? Are you going to show him today?"

"After breakfast, I thought," she answered, seeking to restrain her sister's enthusiasm with a patient smile.

"Let's not wait!" Queen Lucy cried. "Please, Susan. I can't wait for him to see, and Peter and Edmund aren't even up yet. We won't miss breakfast." At this point Peridan realized that they were talking about a surprise for him, not one of their brothers.

Queen Susan glanced at him, and he thought he caught a sparkle in her demure gaze. "Alright," she relented. "I really can't wait either."

Queen Lucy rose and tugged on his arm. "Come, Lord Peridan. We have something to show you." She tried to borrow her sister's warm grace, but Peridan could clearly see she was barely suppressing excitement.

They bustled him out of the room, and on the way they ran into King Edmund. In comparison to his fresh-looking sisters, he was rather rumpled, with his hair sticking up in all directions and his eyes half shut with sleep. "What's all this then?" he said rather grumpily, rubbing his hand over his hair so that it stuck up even more. Peridan tried to repress a smile.

"Come with us, Ed! We're going to see the studio!" Lucy cried, and then she giggled. "Oh Susan, don't look at me so. It can't have been that much of a surprise."

Susan rolled her eyes indulgently. Meanwhile King Edmund grimaced. "Lu, take it easy. I haven't even had any tea yet." He glanced at Perdian and shook his head. Peridan grinned back at him, and he cocked his head towards Lucy, who was already halfway down the hall. "You'd better go, or she'll drag you forcibly."

He laughed, and as Lucy began to pull him along, he turned to look at King Edmund over his shoulder. He could have sworn that he saw the King wink at him. But perhaps he was just imagining it, because then he saw King Edmund put a hand to his head as if it ached and shuffle into the breakfast room.

They made their way a bit down the hall, where Queen Lucy opened a door with a flourish. Queen Susan guided him in, and he found himself in the studio he had always wanted. Light poured in from every angle, and there was all manner of easels, a cup full of brushes in every shape, more canvases than he could ever paint. Wordlessly Susan drew him over to a box which opened to reveal paints in every possible color, both in watercolors and oils. Peridan's fingers began to itch already. Queen Lucy pulled open the drapes, chattering excitedly about the features of the studio and how they had planned it, but he found he was barely listening to her. He turned instead to Queen Susan, who was running her fingers along the carved wood of the paint box, studying it from underneath her lashes. He caught up her hand. "Thank you."

She turned to look at him, and though her smile was hardly more than an upturn of her lips, it was sincere. "You like it then?"

"It's perfect." He gripped her hand tighter, trying to think of a way to tell her. A month ago he didn't know if he would ever have a chance to seriously work on his art, and here it was if she gift wrapped his dream. And all the while she treated him as though he had a gift, as though he was worthy. She was…she was beautiful.

Peridan had a few quiet, delightful days in his studio where he settled in and tested his new art supplies. He hung prints of his favorite works on the walls and set up his color wheel and decided where to put the easel. Every time he touched something, he couldn't believe it was meant for him to use. The very handles of the brushes were of a fine, highly polished cherry wood and their bristles stiff or pliant, as the shape demanded. His head was teeming with ideas; sketches he would develop into paintings new ideas for what to paint. The images came so thick and fast—even in opening up his chest of paints and inhaling the thick smell of oil paint images flicked through his mind like a flip book. None would stay long enough for him to draw, and the torture of trying to capture them and hold an image as he tried to pin it onto paper was exquisite.

He never forgot that Queen Susan gave all this to him, and he promised he would find a way to show her his gratitude even beyond the promised portraits. Somehow, he would repay her for all she had given him.

When he was in the studio neither she nor anyone else bothered him, but often times when he would come back from stretching his legs or taking a ride to cool the fire in his brain, he would find a cup of tea and plate of biscuits waiting for him. He knew this was her doing, and it made a lump grow in his throat. He had no idea what he had done to ever deserve such kindness.

Once he decamped to his studio and stopped haunting the library, he saw a lot less of King Edmund. Though they had yet to have another real conversation, this somehow disappointed him. Queen Susan was easy to read, and open book, a heart he understood, but King Edmund was a mystery. Once he looked out the window and saw the young king laughing and cavorting with his younger sister in the courtyard. She ran from him, laughing, and he caught her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides in a bear hug and spinning her around while she shrieked happily, kicking her legs in mock protest. Then he chanced to glance up, his dark eyes meeting Peridan's. For a moment they shared a glance full of mirth, but just as Peridan dared to start smiling, King Edmund's expression closed off, and he put his sister down, walking away abruptly. Queen Lucy shouted some parting words at him, then shrugged. She too happened to look up, and she waved cheerily at Peridan. "Enjoying your solitude?" she called up.

He blushed uncertainly, but before he could think of a suitable reply she wrinkled her nose and continued. "I think it's about to end!"

No sooner had she said this than Peridan heard footsteps in the hall. He wheeled around, forgetting to say goodbye to Queen Lucy. Was King Edmund here? Why had he come? He found that his heart was racing and his mouth was dry, and yet he really wanted King Edmund to open that door.

He didn't. Instead it was the High King, looking round the room. When his eyes landed on Peridan, he bowed. "Good afternoon."

It took Peridan a moment to collect himself. For some reason he had honestly been expecting King Edmund, and he had to shake himself out of his surprise to comprehend that King Peter stood before him. Finally he managed to collect himself and rise to bow and reply "Good afternoon."

Queen Susan appeared at her brother's shoulder. "Peter's here for his portrait," she explained, giving him a little push into the room. He colored, and Peridan was very surprised to see the High King blushing. He also shifted his weight a bit, but he pasted on a smile. "Yes, my portrait."

His sister rolled her eyes at him. "Honestly, Peter! It won't be painful."

"I'm not worried about the process, I'm worried about the results." He turned to Peridan. "No offense intended, of course."

He smiled. "None taken." He added under his breath "If I had been the subject of that portrait, I'd be nervous too."

Though he didn't intend for it, King Peter heard. And he laughed. Peridan looked up, relief flooding his face, and Queen Susan gave him an approving nod, smiling warmly. She took her brother's arm and drew him over to a picture tacked to Peridan's easel, a study he had done of Edmund and Lucy bent over a map, their faces alight with imagined adventure. "Look, Peter. You don't have to be nervous. Look how well he has captured us."

The High King bent close to the picture, and a slow smile graced his features. "By the Lion…this is good." Peridan tried not to look too proud that the High King had just complimented his work.

Queen Susan ushered him to a seat arranged in front of the easel and sat him down. He made no protest to his sister's commanding; rather he seemed perfectly contented to let her brush the hair out of his eyes, and smiled at the affectionate kiss she dropped on his forehead. As she left the room, she gave Peridan's arm a squeeze and smiled at him encouragingly.

The High King noticed this. "You've made my sister very happy," he commented. "And for that you have my gratitude."

"I haven't really done much, your Majesty," Peridan murmured, placing the canvas on the easel and taking out his pencil. "Rather, I'm the one benefiting."

This earned him a nod of approval. Peridan took note of the look in the High King's eyes, the protective anxiety which crept into his face when he thought of his sister, and he took out his pencil to begin sketch this in a corner of his painting. Then he had the High King relax into a pose and he really began his work, trying not to think too hard about the enormity of this job. He remembered his first glimpse of the High King. He was glittering in mail when he came off the ship in Narrowhaven, and the strength in his face made Peridan want to trust in him and follow him. He concentrated on outlining this, but tilted his head at the barest outline as he examined both the sketch and the High King. He seemed to be erring on the side of the Galmian, but he wasn't quite sure how to correct it. He tried for the better part of an hour, using his sketch pad before going back to the canvas, but even after pages of failed attempts nothing seemed right. The High King said nothing but stared off into the middle distance, apparently lost in thought.

Finally Peridan dismissed him in his frustration. Under normal circumstances it would have felt odd to tell the High King what to do, but he was too deeply absorbed in his failed attempts. After King Peter had gone he lined up the vague sketches on the easel and stepped back, one arm over his stomach and the other elbow leaning on that arm. He stroked his chin as he observed his work, and for the first time he saw the appeal of facial hair. Having a goatee to pull on would relieve some of his frustration.

The door opened again, but he barely heard it. He was still too absorbed in thought. He only turned when he heard King Edmund's voice. "Where's Peter? I thought he was supposed to be preening for you."

"I sent him away," Peridan mused, still thoroughly distracted.

"What for?" King Edmund questioned rather abruptly.

Peridan glanced at him briefly, still so absorbed that he didn't notice that the King's tone bordered on rude. "I couldn't get it to work. I needed some space to think."

"What do you mean, you couldn't…" He came up to stand behind Peridan. "I see. That's meant to be Peter, but it's not."

Peridan sighed his agreement through his nose and balled up the sketches, making as if to toss one in the trash.

King Edmund stayed Peridan's hand and prised the sketch out of it and smoothed it out to rest it on the easel. "The likeness is good," he continued to observe, "But that's just not Peter."

"I know," Peridan groaned.

He laughed a bit. "The problem is very simple. You're trying to make him too Magnificent. Really he's not. Actually, he can be rather a git sometimes."

Peridan's jaw dropped and he turned to look at King Edmund surprised to hear anyone speak of the High King in this way.

King Edmund snorted. "You needn't look so scandalized."

Peridan wished he had a witty retort, but his cheeks turned bright red.

He realized then that King Edmund was carrying a goblet which he was sipping from, and that his lips were stained red with dark wine. He bent towards the sketch, leaning over Peridan. "This is good work, though. Nice, clean lines…that's much more Narnian than what that other fellow did. That was too much in the Galmian style, which is really just a rip-off of Calormene art anyway." When he saw Peridan's surprise he laughed. "What? You think you're the only one who can read and learn about art?"

Peridan looked at him. Their faces were quite close together, and he found himself tracing the King's features with his eyes. Again he had the thought that King Edmund was extraordinarily handsome, and he wanted to figure out what was behind the expression in his veiled eyes.

King Edmund coughed and turned away, sauntering to the door. Peridan thought he had displeased him, until he heard him say casually, "Remember…less hero, more git." He drummed his fingers once on the door frame and then he was gone.

It was such a brief encounter, but it gave Peridan lots to think about. He considered that perhaps there was something to advice; that he was trying too hard to make the High King seem perfect. He sketched the eyes and added that gleam of protective anxiety, and when he was done, he could relax and smile as he regarded the sketch. Humanity. That's what his sketch was missing. Once this problem was solved, however, his mind turned over other things, like what exactly had leapt inside his chest when King Edmund bent so close to him. He tried to fill out the sketch, but he couldn't get any of the features right. They seemed to resemble the High King somewhat but not really, and it wasn't until he paused to look at the inscrutable smile that he realized he was not drawing the High King, but his brother. He erased these efforts vigorously, until no mark was left on the page except the eyes that belonged to King Peter. He put down his pencil and hoped that Queen Susan would come in soon. She never made him squirm uncomfortably.


	10. Chapter 8 Attraction

_A/N: Believe it or not I have actually been writing, and now that my thesis is over I hope to be far more prolific. For any of you out there waiting for All the Dreams... I have not forsaken that story, I promise! It's just been such a long time I need to get back into the rhythm of it. But hopefully now that I have more time a new chapter will be posted soon. In the meantime, here's more from Peridan.  
_

* * *

The portrait was not going well. Despite King Edmund's sound advice the first day, Peridan found he had a lot of trouble tempering the High King's nobility. He sat so straight, and the cut of his profile was so royal that Peridan could not see what lie beneath it. He knew he had to talk to the High King and find out about the man Peter, but how could he dare? Unlike Queen Susan, who was so warm and friendly with him, and Queen Lucy, who hid herself from no living creature, the High King was a man much more like his brother. When he came for his sittings he read through his mail and said little. He was always extremely polite, even kind, but there was a froideur to his kindness as though that was simply how he treated everyone. Peridan had now idea how he could possibly start up a conversation.

He was sitting at his easel during one of these awkward sessions with a paintbrush in his fist and his cheek resting on that fist, trying to decide whether to begin painting or not when he was still unhappy with the sketch before him. Queen Lucy stole in and with impressive agility replaced the post on her brother's knee before he could even make a move of protest.

"Lucy!" He groaned, but Peridan could see that he was pleased all the same.

She knew it too, bending to kiss her brother's nose and rub hers against it. "Don't be cross with me, Peter. I've only come to keep you company." She widened her eyes in an irresistible plea full of impish sweetness. Covertly, Peridan whipped out his sketchpad to capture this. He knew he had to work quickly because the expression would fade in a moment's time.

Sure enough it did, as soon as the High King grinned and relented. "Oh, alright! I was getting work done, you know." He raised his eyebrows in halfhearted reproof and settled back on the couch with his sister on his knee.

She picked up a letter from next to him and examined it. "Is this what you do when you're in here? No wonder I never hear any talking!"

"You've been eavesdropping?"

Queen Lucy tossed off her brother's reproof on manners with a shrug, continuing to examine the letter coquettishly. "It's not like there's anything worth hearing—you're quiet as mice. Now I discover that's because you've been sitting here working and ignoring Lord Peridan! That's not very kind, Peter."

The High King's cheeks reddened, and Peridan repressed a smile at seeing the leader of Narnia brought to task by his little sister. "What was I supposed to say?"

"Anything! Lord Peridan is very nice, but Susan told me he's shy. He won't talk to you first, so I talked to him and I found out that he's very interesting." She flashed a smile at Peridan, and he found it was his turn to blush. Then something suddenly occurred to her and she rounded on her brother with a gasp of indignation and a finger wagging in reproof. "Edmund was right! You've been _posing_! Here we thought it was all that Galmian artist's fault, but it was you too! You're trying to look like the High King!"

The High King was beet red now, and he stammered for something to say. Peridan pressed his lips together, trying hard not to laugh as he watched the unflappable High King squirm at Queen Lucy's admonitions. In order to distract himself, he added a few more details to his sketch of her. She seemed very satisfied with this effect and jumped off his lap. Before Peridan knew where she was going she was at his shoulder, regarding the canvas and the sketchpad of her. She burst out laughing at the sight of her likeness. "Look! I shall hang this over his easel so I can always be here to scold you." She demonstrated this by dangling the sketchpad over the back of the easel. "You are inhibiting Lord Peridan's genius. Clearly he's got the talent, you're just being silly. And you should know that Edmund is making fun of you for it. Deservedly so."

King Peter got up to look at the sketch more closely. Slowly, his face broke into a smile. "Well done indeed! If I had this hanging in front of me, I'd be shamed to guilt for all my days."

Queen Lucy jutted out her chin. "You _see_? Now, you've been plaguing Lord Peridan with your kingliness enough for one afternoon. You must come and teach me to dance and then come back tomorrow and just be Peter."

At this, the High King winced regretfully. "I'm sorry, Lucy, but I can't. You know the Terebinthians are coming soon. There's a lot of work to do to prepare."

"Oh, but Peter, you promised!" she cried in dismay.

He placed his hands on her shoulders. "I know, but I can't come right now. I will teach you to dance. Maybe tonight, if I'm not working too late."

She crossed her arms and made no effort to hide her obvious disappointment. Even when her brother took her by the shoulders and kissed her penitently on the forehead, she did not relent. He sighed and turned to Peridan. "Is that alright for today? I promise to come back tomorrow and stop _posing_." Though Peridan smiled, this failed to rouse Queen Lucy out of her sulk, and she stared stubbornly at the ground. The High King gave her a regretful look and nodded at Peridan and left the room looking rather low.

Peridan wisely began to clean his brushes, waiting for Queen Lucy to speak. In the first it was not his place, and in the second he figured if she wanted to say anything, her open nature would certainly bring her round to it without any prompting.

He was right. Eventually she went over to the window, half perching on the sill and fingering the curtains. She leaned her head on the glass. "I'm almost used to him not being around very much. Really. I know he has work to do and I shouldn't be so demanding. But, oh, I _did_ want to learn how to dance!" She looked at him, confirming now that she was indeed addressing him. "You should see Susan and Peter and balls. They dance so well together. It's lovely. And after Christmas I decided I'd like to learn too, but Ed won't teach me, of course. He says he has better things to do. Apparently Peter does too."

Peridan felt a pang of sympathy for her, and a sudden urge to cheer her up. He found that he felt a little bluer now that Queen Lucy wasn't in good spirits, and he realized that he could do something about that. He wiped his brush carefully and put it away carefully before getting up. "Queen Lucy?"

"Hmm?"

"Um…well…I know how to dance. If you wanted I could show you…"

She turned to him at once, her eyes alight. "Could you really?" She clapped her hands. "Oh, my good Lord Peridan, that would be wonderful!"

He bowed with mock gallantry. "It would by my pleasure, o my Queen."

She laughed blithely and came over to take his arm. "You know, I'm beginning to be glad that you came here too—and not just for Susan's sake. Come on!"

"What, now?" he exclaimed in surprise.

She let go of his arm and put her hands on her hips. "You have something better to do than dance with the Queen of Narnia?"

And so before he was really sure of what was happening, or how, he was whisked downstairs by the young Queen and showing off all he had learned in dancing lessons. They had a very good time over it, laughing when they tripped each other up and making up wild cavorting dances. Peridan realized he had never laughed so much, and he thoroughly enjoyed it.

Towards the end of the afternoon he was trying to teach her one of the more intricate dances and she was bent on learning, but kept missing one of the little movements on which the whole dance depended. She had made the mistake yet again but shook it off and stubbornly took up Peridan's hand again when Peridan caught sight of Queen Susan watching them. He disengaged himself politely so he could bow.

She smiled. "Lord Peridan, please don't let my sister tire you out."

"Oh no," he assured her. "We're having a wonderful time."

Queen Lucy beamed up at him and then at her sister. "See? Peter couldn't dance with me, so Lord Peridan said he would. Wasn't that sweet of him?"

Queen Susan nodded to her sister, but her eyes were on Peridan. "Very."

"Susan, you know this dance," Queen Lucy observed, looking between them. "Will you show me the steps, with Lord Peridan? I keep missing one, and I feel I need to see it in order to learn."

"Only if Lord Peridan doesn't mind," she answered softly.

"I don't," was his automatic reply.

Queen Lucy stepped back and Peridan laid his hand on Susan's waist. He could feel her draw in her breath when he touched her, and he looked into her face, thinking he had somehow caused her displeasure. But no, a smile fluttered on her lips. He took up her hand and squeezed it gently. Then the music started and they were moving together. He had been dancing with Queen Lucy, who though she was athletic and enthusiastic, she was not very expert, so perhaps that's why he felt that Queen Susan moved so easily in his arms. Her movements were light and graceful, and Peridan steered her across the floor with ease. He soon realized that it was not merely the contrast between novice and expert; Queen Susan was a lovely dancer. Part of him wished he was watching her so he could examine the grace in her movements, study the lines of her form. On the other hand, part of him liked having her so close. The gentle glow in her blue eyes made a little ball of warmth settle in his chest.

That was not the last moment he spent alone with Queen Susan. Every day toward the end of his painting session with the High King Queen Lucy would come in bursting with excitement over some plan or another she had hatched for their afternoon. One day it was a ride through the woods, another a stroll through the gardens. She seemed bent on showing him all the delights of life at Cair Paravel, and had a store of activities for even rainy days: quiet corners of the castle for reading or playing chess, long quiet corridors full of symmetrical arches. And somehow, Queen Susan was always there with her soft ways and her delicate smile. After the third day, he found himself looking for her arrival and smiling when she came. When he felt the soon familiar glow of having her near, he wondered if this was what falling in love was like.

At night, however, he did not contrive ways to see her, he searched for reasons to go to the library. A lot of times he would grab a book and sit in a chair by the fire, waiting for hours. Several nights he went to bed disappointed. In fact, nearly every night he went to bed feeling that way, but he thought maybe that was because he didn't know exactly what he was hoping for in the first place.

Then one night he was curled up, trying to pay attention to his book, when the door to the library swung open. He looked up and saw King Edmund there, his dark hair disheveled, a bottle hanging loosely from one hand. "Hello," he drawled.

Peridan let the open book rest on his chest and sat up a little more. "Hello, your Majesty."

King Edmund smiled lazily, with only half his mouth, and came to sit in the other armchair by the fire. He didn't really sit, he sprawled across it, his legs dangling over the arms. Peridan took him in from the soft, creased leather of his boots to the rich, dense velvet of his black tunic, to the shock of black hair above his pale face. He remarked how like his sister the king looked, though his brows were slightly more pronounced and his eyes were a deep black. These little alterations in the general canvas meant the difference between Queen Susan's gentle, glowing beauty and King Edmund's sparking inscrutability. Peridan couldn't take his eyes off him.

"Is there something on my face?" King Edmund raised his eyebrows in query.

Peridan pulled himself out of his reverie. "I'm sorry?"

"You're staring at me awfully hard. I wondered if that was because there was something wrong and you didn't know how to tell a King he had egg on his face." He shrugged eloquently to punctuate this statement, raising the bottle to his lips. When he pulled it away, he observed blandly. "I ought to get glasses in here, one of these days. Especially if this becomes a habit, and I'm a little afraid it might be." He glanced at Peridan and winked, then observed without seeming the least bit perturbed, "You're still staring. Something must be wrong."

"I was just noticing that you wear a lot of black," Peridan answered vaguely.

He snorted. "Thanks. I wasn't aware."

Peridan blushed deeply, and King Edmund stared up at the ceiling. He seemed to have some piece of music running through his head, for he swung his dangling foot in the air in time, conducting with his toes as he hummed under his breath. For his part, Peridan held his. He was tense with expectation, but he didn't know what he was expecting.

At last the king turned his head to look at Peridan again, and nodded at him. "What's that you're reading?"

"Just something I picked up off the shelves," Peridan demurred.

"Well yes, I can see that. But what something?" When Peridan fumbled with the book, trying to see the title because he found that all of a sudden he could not remember it, King Edmund laughed. "You _are_ a shy one, aren't you?" He shook his head and took another sip before extending the bottle. "Relax. Have some wine."

Peridan leaned forward to take it from the King, and as he did his fingers scraped King Edmund's. At the same moment he realized that the fire must be blazing too high. He was rather warm. He took a sip of the wine smoothly this time. Since that first night with King Edmund in the library where he nearly spit it all out, he had been training himself to drink Archenlandish wine undiluted. Now as he did, the King arched an eyebrow. Peridan relished seeing the expression and took another longer sip.

King Edmund made a lazy swipe for the bottle. "I didn't say you could have it all!"

Peridan held it out of his reach. A laugh bubbled to his lips, and he couldn't restrain it. As he let it escape, King Edmund laughed too, a low, delicious laugh that didn't last nearly long enough. Peridan felt a tug in his stomach when he heard it, and suddenly he wished he knew a way to make King Edmund laugh again.

Eventually he relinquished the bottle and they fell to talking about the book Peridan had been reading. He never could remember what he said about it, or even what it was, but he always thought the conversation was a pleasant one. He watched the subtleties in King Edmund's expression change as he talked: he would raise an eyebrow, or his eye would spark or his lips twitch invitingly. And as he talked, he would stretch his sinewy arms and legs, the exact opposite now of his stiff and correct brother. Peridan watched the young King's body twist and his lips part in a yawn. Soon after, his head lolled and King Edmund breathed slowly, having fallen asleep in the midst of the conversation. Peridan seemed pinned by the weight of the book on his chest. He didn't get up for a long time.

The next afternoon he was matching Queen Lucy at chess. As she pondered her next move, he found himself wondering what it would be like to match wits with King Edmund over the chessboard, and he pictured those black brows drawn, a small frown of concentration playing on his lips. Then he felt the weight and warmth of someone sitting on the bench next to him. He turned, so startled he half expected it was King Edmund himself. But no, it was Queen Susan. She had a scrap of embroidery in one hand, but she was not looking at this. Instead she leaned close to Peridan and murmured in his ear "You can take her knight."

He fought down a laugh. "You really don't play much chess, do you? If I take her knight, she'll have the game in two moves."

She laughed softly. "No, I'm afraid I don't. You'll have to teach me."

"It might be a very long lesson," he teased before he could stop himself. Queen Lucy giggled, and next to him he heard Queen Susan exhale a soft laugh as well. He turned to look at her, smiling, and she looked up into his eyes, catching her lower lip between her teeth. She moved a little bit closer to him, her eyes still bright with mirth. For a moment Peridan forgot Queen Lucy was there.

Then there was a sharp voice from the doorway. "You two are to come downstairs. Peter needs you."

Peridan looked up and saw King Edmund in the doorway. His stomach did a funny little somersault at this realization, but sank just as quickly when he saw the look on King Edmund's face. He was staring right at Peridan, taking in how close Susan was to him, the fading smile on Peridan's face. And for some reason, this made his black eyes close off and his black brows contract.

"Ed," Queen Lucy began, "What--?"

"I don't know what for," he cut her off curtly. "Just come downstairs." With that, he spun on his heel and walked down the hall, the quick clip of his boot heels echoing in the passageway.

"That wasn't even what I was going to ask," Queen Lucy murmured.

"I don't know what's wrong with him," Queen Susan said, mystified.

Peridan made a vague noise of assent. He couldn't take his eyes from the doorway where King Edmund had appeared, and he couldn't understand why he felt so anxious or what this might have to do with him, but the guilt and disappointment pricked at him all the same.

Ch. 8 - AttractionPage 13


	11. Chapter 9 Desire

On another afternoon, Queen Lucy led Queen Susan and Peridan down to the beach. "I've started a seashell collection for Peter," she had explained, "and now it's just warm enough to hunt for more. Come on, it will be lovely to kick off our shoes for the first time and bury our toes in the wet sand." Peridan had laughed, because he couldn't imagine her stately sister doing any such thing.

They had been down by the water for some time, and Queen Lucy was playing like a happy child, digging industrious holes in the sand and dodging the foamy waves that washed up on the beach. Every so often she would lift up a shell, inspect it carefully, and rinse it in the water before slipping it into a pouch slung at her side. When she washed her shells she had no fear of the water, and as a result her dress was soaked from the knees down despite all her running from the waves.

As Queen Susan watched her sister skitter away from the water in another futile attempt to stay dry, she laughed. "It does me good to watch her."

"She makes the sand look so inviting. When I lived in the Lone Islands I would play on the sand like that," Peridan commented casually. A memory washed over him, some vague shadow of what his parents must have been like. He saw only little scraps: a man with a soft brown beard, a woman with a warm laugh. Then like a wave, the images were pulled under.

He felt a touch on his arm. "Lord Peridan?" Queen Susan was peering at him carefully, her brows knitted together in concern.

"I'm so sorry, your Majesty. I've lost the thread of our conversation." He accompanied his apology with a bow.

"No, please don't apologize," she said gently, stepping a bit closer, "Tell me what you were thinking of."

"Just a memory I was trying to hold on to. My parents," he glanced at her.

Her eyes grew bright and she took his hand in both of his. "I know what that's like."From the sympathy in her eyes, he had no doubt she did. "But you never had brothers, sisters, cousins?"

He shrugged. "My mother was an only child, and my father had but one brother. Uncle Kieran and Aunt Minna could never have children." He tried not to look at her; he was perilously close to committing the gross impropriety of embracing his Queen and laying his head down on her shoulder. She squeezed his hand.

Just as Peridan was looking up into her eyes, Queen Lucy shrieked with laughter and surprise and waded halfway into the water to have a conversation with a mermaid. This made Peridan and Queen Susan laugh together, the sorrow of a moment before blown away by the March wind.

"Come," Peridan said, bending to tug off his boots, "Let us follow your sister's example and forget troubles for awhile." Before she could protest, he indicated that she should lean back against a tree so he could remove her shoes for her.

"You're so chivalrous," she commented, smiling at this performance.

"Nothing but good manners," he returned, laying her shoes together neatly next to his. Then he straightened up and drew her forward by the hand. They crossed the warm, smooth sand that coated their feet in a fine layer to the stickier wet sand that made puddles where they walked and a delicious squelching, sucking sort of sound whenever they lifted their feet. The act of walking through such sand and dodging the cold waves was so engrossing that neither of them spoke, and it was a long while before they noticed how far down the beach they had come.

"We've come round the bend," Queen Susan remarked, looking up as the water receded. "You can hardly see the castle."

Peridan looked up too. "I had no idea we'd come so far," he commented. "Do you think we should turn back?"

She shook her head. "No. Not just yet. I don't…I don't really want to go back, with Ed cross as he is. I hate it when he gets in these moods. I can't seem to do anything right."

Peridan saw the distress in her face and guided her over to a flat rock where she could sit for a moment. He spread his cloak beneath her, and she gave him a thin smile of gratitude. "I shouldn't have said. You must not want to hear about family quarrels."

"I'd like to help you, if I can," Peridan said, and he found that he had been waiting to say those words for a long time, though he was thinking more about that sketch he had made of Lord Darnan than of her brother.

She shook her head. "He said that Peter needed something, and that I wasn't there—in so many words. He says I don't notice any of them anymore."

"My Queen, that is the furthest thing possible from the truth. I've never seen anyone so attentive to their family—in truth, it makes me quite jealous that I do not have a sister like you," Peridan said warmly.

She looked at him, her lips just slightly parted. Finally she laid her hand on Peridan's knee. "I may not be your sister, but I can be your friend."

He nodded, and his throat was tight with emotion when he said "I should like that very much." Without being aware of what he was doing, he let his hand cover Queen Susan's, his fingers sliding across the back of her hand before he held it tight. She turned her face to him, and her eyes were wide and the deepest blue. He could see her body stiffen with expectation.

He could so easily lean in and kiss her. He knew instinctively this was the sort of moment where such a thing happened. He knew he wanted to. No one had ever made him feel like Queen Susan did, not even Juliette. He realized he must have been very cold before coming here. And then here, away from the castle, she was no longer the Queen of Narnia, but his friend Susan. His warm, beautiful friend.

But he didn't kiss her. Some invisible wall seemed to be between the two of them, something he couldn't penetrate, even if her face was turned up to his, her lower lip just caught under her teeth. He couldn't understand it, and he found he was scared to explore this moment any further. He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on her silky skin. The kiss was more than courtly and less than romantic, and he remained bent over her hand, waiting for the moment to pass. He didn't know or understand any of this.

Some simple sound broke the spell. It was perhaps the call of a bird or a distant shout of Queen Lucy's laughter, something gay and unfettered enough to let him lift his head and smile at her. Then he helped her off the rock and they walked back to her sister. Neither said anything more. But that night in bed, the memory of that moment came back to Peridan unbidden. He tossed under the covers and fluffed his pillow with a punch, but his violent movements could not dispel the memory or the sick, burning fluttering in his lower esophagus. It was something like shame. "Why didn't you kiss her?" a voice demanded. "Don't you want her? Don't you _love_ her? Don't you like dark hair with fair skin? Isn't that attractive?"

Peridan pulled the pillow over his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to think about this anymore. He didn't want to know the answers to those questions. He waited for his body to relax and sleep to take over, but it didn't. That memory and those questions just kept tossing in his head until he could bear it no longer. He sat upright. The room was too quiet, so his thoughts were too loud. He needed to occupy his mind with something else. He thought of going to his studio, but he was worried he might paint something in his head. Instead he threw on his dressing gown and went to the library, burying himself in book after book until the dawn started to seep under the heavy drawn drapes. Only then did his eyelids finally flutter shut and he found some rest.

He awoke sometime later by the sound of voices outside the library. Though he could not see the door, tucked as he was in a corner, he heard King Edmund's voice come clearer as he opened the door. "Honestly, Lu, do I look like I care that you can't find Peridan? There are a lot more important things to worry about than that today."

"But Ed, I only—"

"You only what? Haven't you done enough lately? You've practically thrown Susan in front of Peridan. Is that what you want him for? So you can play these games?"

"She _likes_ him, Ed. He makes her happy. I would _think_ that you'd want your own sister to be happy," Queen Lucy returned, speaking sharper than Peridan had ever heard her.

King Edmund sighed in a very adult way, as though he were a man far older than his years trying to handle an over-exuberant girl far younger than the Queen. "Lucy, honestly. You're just a child—what do you know about such things? Wouldn't it be best to leave this sort of things to the grownups?"

Peridan heard Queen Lucy make a noise of frustration, and then he heard her storm from the room with very heavy steps for a girl so small. She banged the door shut behind her.

He sank lower in his chair. Was it true, what Queen Lucy had said? He shook his head. He didn't really know _what_ Queen Lucy had said; such speculation was useless, wasn't it? It would only cause problems. He buried himself behind his book and tried to read again when he heard a pointed cough. He looked up over the top of his book and saw King Edmund there, glaring down at him from under black brows.

"They're looking for you," he said tersely. "Don't want to be late."

Peridan raised his eyebrows, and the King glowered in response. Peridan could remember the night he sprawled over this chair. Such relaxation seemed impossible now; every muscle in King Edmund's body was tightly wound. He wasn't sure what he had done to anger the King so much, and he was afraid of the look in his eyes, as if King Edmund could see something deep inside him that he could not. "I'll go then," he murmured, pushing himself out of the chair. King Edmund stood in his way, but he did not move to let Peridan past, just stared at him, into him, with his hard black eyes.

For a moment Peridan looked into his face to see if he would give way, and found that his breath caught. He did not understand why, but he was frozen under that glare, and it was a long moment before he found the wits to skirt around King Edmund and dart out the door.

Peridan was distracted all day. After that night in the library, he thought perhaps he and King Edmund could be friends. He very much hoped that they would. But he knew that he had done something to ruin that chance, and he didn't know what it was. Just as Queen Susan seemed drawn to him—and he couldn't deny this fact—King Edmund seemed to despise him. He tried not to let it bother him, but it was hard. The King's stare was so sharp, and there seemed to be so much more to discover underneath it.

Then there was Queen Susan. How he could be simultaneously intrigued by the sharp edges of King Edmund and her softness, he didn't know. All he knew was that when she appeared during the High King's portrait sitting, he found himself smiling. She made him feel safe and warm, and less alone. And she was beautiful. If Queen Lucy was right, that he made her happy in return…what did that mean?

There was a party. Queen Susan arranged an affair for the unveiling of his portrait of King Peter. She kept it small but festive, and Peridan could hardly believe all of this was in his honor as he walked the length of the finely appointed room. All the gold gleaming on the table, all the delicacies heaping on the plates, all of this was because he had painted a picture, something that was nearly as reflexive as breathing.

True, this portrait had been harder than all his other works because he was so bent on striking the balance between man and noble king. Eventually, though, King Peter had relaxed, coaxed into it by his sisters. Thus Peridan was able to see he was not just another chivalrous knight, but an engaging man with a hearty laugh who was brimming with kindness underneath his regal exterior. In the end, the moment that influenced Peridan's portrayal of the High King's eyes and his smile was no pose. Both his sisters had assailed him at the end of one of his sittings, tickling him until he shouted with laughter. When at last they ceased, he sat up with an arm around each of them and kissed their foreheads. Then he turned to smile at Peridan, and the happiness that shone in his eyes was so honest that Peridan knew this was what he had to capture.

When everyone gathered in the Queen's gallery and she drew the sheet away, the small crowd gasped with surprise. And they applauded. They applauded _him_, and they raised their glass in a toast. Queen Lucy squealed with delight, and for a moment all the hardness left King Edmund's eyes as he gazed up at the portrait. His eyes sparked merrily, and he gave an impressed frown. Then King Peter stepped forward.

"My good Lord Peridan," he said warmly, "I can only hope this is half my likeness—I fear you flatter me with your talent." He grasped Peridan's forearm and clapped his shoulder.

Peridan could feel everyone's smiles, and he drew closer to Queen Susan. The group filtered away to dinner with many kind compliments, murmuring "That is exactly the look in his eyes," or "Aslan bless! That is the exact likeness of the High King!" When it was just him and Susan alone, he turned to her.

"Is it what you hoped for when you asked me to paint?" he asked tentatively.

She turned to him and took his hands in hers, squeezing them. "It's wonderful, Peridan. Absolutely wonderful. I'm…oh, Peridan, I'm so glad you're here." She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the cheek.

He closed his eyes at the touch of her kiss, and he could feel how soft her lips were on his cheek. Her hair smelled like roses, and he breathed in the scent as she leaned into him. The kiss lasted but a moment before she drew away, and he looked into her eyes, unsure of what to do. He did the only thing he could think of and offered her his arm. "Should we go in? They're waiting."

She nodded and threaded her arm through his, keeping quite close as he lead the way into the Great Hall. When they entered, many faces turned their way, and Peridan could see that they thought there was more to he and Queen Susan than artist and patron. He glanced at her sidewise from under his lashes. Certainly this was true. She was more to him than anyone had ever been.

She stayed close by him while they ate, having seated him next to her at the foot of the table. He was opposite King Edmund, and on the King's was a girl of about their age that he knew as Lady Alina. She sat very close to the King, and though he frowned at her once when she moved too close, Peridan could otherwise see very little objection in the King's face. Rather, his eyes upon her were dark, and when he turned to hear something Peridan had said, Peridan saw the tail end of this look of…well, it had to be desire, when the King's eyes lighted on his face. He shivered, but the next moment the look was gone, replaced by a scowl as Queen Susan touched Peridan's arm. After expressing his disapprobation wordlessly, King Edmund turned back to Alina, who was leaning into him.

The dancing started, and King Peter took the floor with Queen Susan while Queen Lucy ran over from her place by the High King to claim the hand of her other brother. Peridan smiled at the picture of the four of them on the dance floor, and he felt a little tug when he saw King Edmund laugh with his sister, who was explaining something to him with animation. He looked kind then, full of the same warmth as the rest of his family, and his face did not close off for the rest of the dance. But Lady Alina was not looking at his face. Peridan happened to glance at her and see in one look that she was taking in the King's lithe, graceful body. Peridan was troubled by this look, both lascivious and proprietary. No one in their right mind would think they owned a single hair on King Edmund's head. He was far too untamable. There also seemed something wanton about staring at a man with dark desire while he danced so happily with his sister, but Alina made no move to cover this. Rather, as soon as she could she got up to dance with the King, and as he guided her across the floor she moved with her body very close to his. This in Peridan's opinion made her a poor dancer. He didn't have much time to reflect on her lack of grace or lack of manners, however, for Queen Lucy came to claim his hand.

"I want to show you that I can put your lessons into practice," she said beguilingly, tugging him to his feet.

He got up with a willing laugh and took up the dance with her. She had improved, and even though Peridan had to whisper the steps to her, she was full of lively energy that forced Peridan to smile and forget his thoughts of Lady Alina. He was smiling still when the High King came to claim his youngest sister for a dance. When he turned and found Queen Susan, she was waiting for a partner as he expected. From the corner of his eyes he saw several young lords coming forward to claim her hand, and he felt a sudden jump of anxiety in his chest that they should get there before him. He hastily stepped forward to bow and ask for her hand in the dance, and he could not help but notice that the Queen flushed with pleasure as he did so.

She looked up into his face and smiled warmly, laying her hand on his shoulder as he laid his on her waist. "You are not so shy tonight, my Lord."

"I think you have brought out the best in me, my Queen," he answered. Then he spun her out and watched the graceful whirl of her silk skirts before he pulled her back in close. The smile she wore reached all the way to her eyes now, and the fluttering that she might be lost to him even for a dance was replaced with a glow of pride that he could make her happy.

They danced half the night together. Peridan only relinquished her when her brothers came for a dance, though the High King came far more often than King Edmund. In fact, he only noticed King Edmund step forward one time. He and Lady Alina had been dancing almost too close, and then Peridan lost track of them for awhile. When he saw King Edmund again, Lady Alina was no longer by his side and he was asking Queen Susan for a dance with something almost like contrition in his face.

When Queen Susan was dancing with someone else, he danced with Queen Lucy or not at all. He watched the other lords carefully, making sure to beat them to Queen Susan's side when the dance was over. Somehow, she seemed to move towards him as well, and once he noticed that she refused several gracious bows and proffered hands on her way to him. He did not even think that others would care to dance with him until he tucked himself into a corner while the four monarchs danced together in the old dance of four, the dance they led together at every party. He watched the four heads, two black and two golden, from behind his pillar, and a twitter of voices swelled over the music.

"And his eyes! I don't care what you say, Mari, he may have gorgeous hair, but his eyes."

The girl called Mari gave a despairing sigh. "Well it doesn't matter what he's got. He's talented and gorgeous and he hasn't once looked at anyone but Queen Susan."

"I _do_ wish she'd marry so we could all have a chance at some of the men at court!"

"I know! Do you think this Lord Peridan even has a chance with the Queen?"

Peridan never heard the answer to this as the dance ended and there was a swell of applause. He clapped absently, thinking he could answer himself. The question he couldn't answer was what he himself wanted.

He felt the weight and warmth of someone sitting next to him, and he turned to see the Queen, flushed and joyful from dancing. "You're hiding again," she murmured. Queen Lucy would have made an exuberant tease out of it, but her reproach was softer, teasing but still gentle. Peridan thought her eyes were shining beautifully, a luminous blue deep as the night sky.

"You know me," he murmured, watching her from beneath his lashes.

She stroked his upper arm with the tips of her fingers, her eyes shifting from where her hand lay to his face. "I think I am beginning to."

"Your Majesty…" Peridan began, but he was unsure how to finish. Her fingertips tickled pleasantly, but he found his eyes straying to where King Edmund was by the musicians' post, picking up an instrument experimentally and running his hand over its gleaming carved wood. He smiled to himself, a little unguarded smile as he appreciated the workmanship, ran his fingers over the entire surface of the instrument, exploring it with his fingertips. Peridan could almost feel their questioning tickle. Then King Edmund cradled the little lyre close to him almost tenderly and strummed it with delicate fingers. The sound of it was lost in the bustle of the party. His eyes were downcast, and his dark eyelashes were in sharp relief on his pale cheek. Peridan was more than moved to draw him, he was drawn to him. Somehow the King looked up, as if he knew Peridan was looking at him, and he stared at Peridan for a surprised second before he frowned.

"My lord?" Queen Susan asked inquiringly, twisting to see what he had been looking at.

For some reason, he didn't want her to know what he had been looking at, and he took her gently by the shoulders and turned her back to look at him, smiling into her face. "Let me get you some refreshment, your Majesty. An ice, perhaps? Or some wine?"

She shook her head, and her eyes dilated. "I think I'm a bit tired. All the dancing… Perhaps I'll go to bed."

He knew what she wanted him to do, and he found he wanted to comply. "Would you like for me to escort you?" he asked kindly.

She nodded, and he rose and extended his hand to help her up. She led him over to her brother and sister to bid them goodnight. "Tell Ed for me, won't you? He's in a peculiar mood this evening."

The High King nodded agreement and gave Peridan another smile. "I must thank you again, Lord Peridan. I could not be more pleased."

Queen Lucy squeezed his free hand, beaming. "Yes! The painting was marvelous. We're so lucky to have you."

Peridan bowed his thanks and his goodnight, wondering if he had imagined the other blessing he thought he heard in their words. He decided not to think on it as he led Queen Susan from the room.

As they walked together down the corridors, the noise of the party faded and the castle became silent. There were a thousand thanks Peridan had to make, but neither of them spoke. This did not seem a time for talking.

They reached Queen Susan's door, and there they paused. Peridan looked at her uncertainly. The Queen was beautiful, even more beautiful in the dim light of the corridor. She was so much to him. She laid a hand on his arm, moving closer. Here was the moment. He could either step away and bow and say goodnight and thank you or…he put his hand on her waist. She drew in a sharp breath, and still she said nothing. The shape of her mouth intrigued and invited him, and the fascination was too much. He had to know. He dipped his head to kiss her, and she met his lips halfway.

She had kissed him earlier in the evening, and so he knew her lips were soft and velvety as rose petals. But to touch them with his own…she sighed against his lips, and her breath fluttered against him. She felt every inch as beautiful as she looked, a beauty that made Peridan's heart ache.

The chivalrous thing would be to kiss her and say goodnight. Walk away. He knew his manners. But instead he stammered, "Queen Susan…"

"Yes, Lord Peridan?" her voice was barely above a breath.

"I…What…what comes next?"

She bit her lip, her eyes still trained on his face, and backed away toward the door. She reached behind her and pushed the door open. "Whatever you would like," she said shakily.

He could go. He knew he should go. There was a passion in her eyes, her pupils so wide her eyes were black as her brother's. Her passion is not hard or sharp, he thought. She is so warm and soft and beautiful. He could go, but he would be cold and lonely in his room.

Then she tickled his palm with the tips of her fingers, interlacing their hands. He let this decide for him, and he followed her inside.

Her room was lit with dozens of candles and full of fragrant white roses. He walked over to a vase full of these and plucked off a petal, rubbing it between his fingers and saying softly, "These remind me of you."

"Oh…the roses? They do?"

He turned to her, nodding. "The petals are soft, and they're so delicate," he murmured as if in a dream. He pressed the petal in his hand to her cheek, watching amazed as she closed her eyes and sighed. Then she turned her lips into his wrist and kissed him there. "Oh, your Majesty," he breathed, bending to kiss her other cheek.

She left off kissing his wrist and turned her face into his so that they were kissing again. She parted her lips against his mouth and touched her tongue to his lips. The ticklish sensation was so pleasant that he opened his mouth and touched his tongue to hers.

He didn't know how long they kissed. It could have been minutes, and it could have been hours. Her softness was so alluring that Peridan didn't want to stop. He didn't want to think.

She drew away and asked "Have you done this before?"

He shook his head no.

"Me either," she whispered, biting her lip. She stroked his chest with her fingertips. "But I want to. Peridan, I—"

"Shh," he murmured. He cupped her chin and brushed his thumb over her lower lip, feeling its velvet softness. She raised her hands to the ribbon lacing at the front of her dress.

He drew in an expectant breath. He wanted to see her. Was her body as beautiful as her face? Was her skin as soft? How graceful was her form? He longed to know. His fascination was such that he didn't even stop to think he should touch her, or kiss her. He only watched her with his keen artist's eye. Her hands trembled ever so slightly, but then she pushed her bodice away, and Peridan nearly gasped. "Oh…your Majesty," he breathed. Without thinking, he reached out a hand to touch her creamy skin. She nodded, and he let his fingers explore her, drawing her close. One hand was on her soft skin and the other he let stroke her inky black hair, thinking feverishly that her skin was like the moon and her curtain of hair like the night. He wanted to be a sculptor to find a way to shape this.

She closed her eyes and titled her head back as he touched her, sighing with desire. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing close to him and kissing his neck, brushing her lips along his skin. But he didn't want her to kiss him. He wanted to see her. He took a step towards the bed and she guided him the rest of the way, then lay herself down and reached up for him, calling him by name.

He stretched out beside her, kissing her softly. Then he dared to finger the ties on her skirt. She looked up at him, stroking his jaw with her fingertips. Trembling, he pulled her skirt away and took in her body.

She was achingly, exquisitely beautiful, and he took her in with a small gasp. "Oh…Queen Susan…I never…" he breathed. She looked down at herself, then up at him, seeking his approval. He kissed her stomach, right at the smooth dip where her belly button was. His kiss was dry and warm. She sighed, though, and she wound her fingers through his hair, moving underneath him. Why that made him uncomfortable…he couldn't move his kisses up or down, so he pressed another kiss to her navel.

She understood something of his hesitation, for she murmured "Shh," and drew his tunic over his head. She swept her eyes over him, and they dilated. She looked into his eyes and bit her lip, and then she started to pull at the lacing of his breeches.

He didn't know what was supposed to happen when she took him in her hand. The physical sensation of it was strange, tantalizing, a tug at something deeper inside him. He closed his eyes and, entirely unbidden he saw King Edmund in his mind's eye, stroking him as he strummed that lyre. Then something jumped alive within him, and he too moved and let out a shaky breath of desire. He didn't know if the picture in his head or Queen Susan's gentle caress was what caused the change, but he banished the former as quickly as he could. This was what he wanted.

She touched his cheek with her other hand. When he opened his eyes, Peridan saw that she had caught her lower lip with her teeth and he liquid blue eyes were searching his face for approval. She breathed deep with desire, but there was also some fragile fear in her face. He wanted to make that go away. He drew her to him and kissed her again, pressing himself close to her. Her arms closed tight around him in something that was not quite a clasp but stronger than an embrace. She stroked his back, and he let his hands run over the smooth landscape of her skin and they kissed for ages, slipping into slumber somewhere in the small hours, still entwined together.

* * *

_A/N: A long one, yes, but clearly a lot had to happen!_


End file.
